That'll Be the Day (2007) (35 page)

His eyes glittered. ‘You can try.’

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

‘I might be able to think of something in return to pleasure you.’

‘Ooh, I can’t wait to find out what it is.’

They were so compatible, it was amazing.

They crept into the shadows under the bridge where she let him tie her to the railings with a chain more normally used for tying up the canal barges. Then he grabbed her hair, twisting and pushing her back into the tussocks of dusty grass while he took his time unbuttoning his flies.

Desire slid through her, making her feel lazy and soporific, eyelids drooping closed as if she’d been drugged. Helen loved feeling this way, so submissive, so needy, craving to be dominated and used. And use her he did, brutally, forcefully, thrusting all the harder whenever she cried out. But then she welcomed the pain, which always changed into an entirely different sensation altogether.

She had red marks on her wrists from the chains, and her backside was sore from being rubbed so hard against the rough ground, but Helen welcomed these discomforts. These were secret proof of her pleasure.

When it was over Sam adjusted his clothing. There had been no conversation between them beyond those first few challenging remarks. There never was. He glanced down at her where she sat on the canal bank slipping on her leopard skin mules.

Helen smiled up at him, her cool grey eyes calm and complacent beneath the pencilled winged brows. ‘I have plans for the rest of this week. How are you fixed for Friday?’

‘This was the last time.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

He fastened the last button on his shirt, casually flicked away a few stalks of grass. ‘I’m calling an end to it. It has to stop now.’

Helen got slowly to her feet, tugging at the strapless top of her cotton sundress as it threatened to slide south. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Is there a problem?’ Anger was churning deep inside her, revealing itself only in the clipped tones, the sparks in her ice clear gaze. Helen wasn’t accustomed to being dumped. Affairs continued until she called an end to them, not the other way around.

‘Sorry, love, but it can’t be helped,’ Sam said, deliberately using a familiar term he knew she didn’t like. ‘I’ve got the custody case coming up soon, so this has to stop, at least until all of that’s sorted.’

‘Custody? You’re not telling me that you actually
want
to get your children back?’

He looked at her then as if she were mad. ‘They’re mine, and nobody takes anything that belongs to me, not even my wife. I’ll get them back all right. No question. And you, lady, are history. Thanks for the memories.’ And turning on his heel Sam strode away without a backward glance.

Helen took off a leopard-skin mule and threw it at him. Unfortunately, it fell short and plopped into the canal, whereupon she burst into tears. She’d really been very fond of those sandals.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The case for custody was coming up any day now and Judy was nervous. She couldn’t say, hand on heart, that access was going well. Sam continued to bring the children home late and once returned to say they weren’t coming home at all, that they were staying with his mother for the night. His excuse was that despite having got herself a job she still hadn’t found them anywhere decent to live.

‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ Judy told him. ‘I’ve found a two bedroom house in Back Quay Street, not the prettiest house in the world admittedly but with a bit of work and a lick of paint it’ll be fine. I hope to move in a week or two.’

He scowled, as if this were unwelcome news, which made Judy smile. ‘You see, I can manage on my own, Sam, and I really have no wish to quarrel with you. That wouldn’t help the kids one bit. Let’s go our separate ways in dignity, shall we?’

He grunted, saying nothing, but as he turned to go Judy called after him. ‘And tell Lillian I’ll come round to collect Ruth and Tom’s things in my dinner break tomorrow. Okay?’

The following morning Judy went to work as usual in the jam factory. It wasn’t particularly well paid work and so boring there were times when she thought she was going out of her mind. But they were a cheerful group of girls, the hours were regular, and at least she could now afford a better place for them to live, even if was only a two up and two down in Back Quay Street. She’d already bought some wallpaper and cream emulsion paint, preparatory to doing it up the minute they moved in. Meanwhile they could cope a bit longer in the fish flat.

She kept her mind occupied by mentally planning any shopping she needed to do when she dashed over to collect the children’s things. She would make a cheese and onion pie for tea, as a treat. Money was still tight but if she mixed some mashed potato with the cheese it would go further.

Once these decisions had been made she happily let her mind drift to the latest picture she was painting. It was only in water colour using a cheap tin of Ruth’s paints on the back of some scraps of wallpaper she’d found in a cupboard, but it was better than nothing. Judy always felt as if a part of her were missing if she couldn’t paint.
 

‘Mrs Beckett, there’s someone calling for you outside. Your name is Judy, isn’t it?’

The foreman’s voice bellowing in her ear above the general din of the workroom made Judy jump.

‘Oh, someone for me?’

‘They’re making a helluva noise. The boss would be obliged if you’d go and see to them before he calls the police.’

Judy ran, heart beating furiously. There must be some problem with the kids. What could it be? An accident at school? Oh, God, let them be all right. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to either of them.

She heard Sam’s voice long before she reached him. He was shouting her name at the top of his voice. ‘
Judy
! Judy, come out here.
Judy, I need you out here
now
!’

When she did catch sight of him through the factory window she was shocked. Never in all her life had she seen him so furious. Her heart leapt into her mouth and she came over all faint, thinking her knees might buckle beneath her. It must be even worse than she’d thought.

‘Are you all right?’ The boss’s secretary looked alarmed, as if fearing she might keel over any minute.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’ Judy ran out to Sam. ‘What is it? What’s happened.’

‘About time. What the hell are you doing here when you should be with the kids?’

‘The children are at school. At least I thought they were. Why are you here, yelling and shouting and frightening the whole neighbourhood. What’s happened? Are the children all right? Has there been an accident? Oh, Sam, tell me what’s wrong.’

By way of an answer he grabbed her arm and shook her. The gesture shocked her by its violence, since he was usually such a controlled man. ‘You should behave like a proper mother, that’s what’s wrong. Tom vomited all over his desk and where were you? In this place sticking labels on jam pots. What sort of a mother does that?’

‘One who needs to earn an honest living.’ Judy was beginning to calm down. Maybe the crisis was only in Sam’s head. ‘I expect he’s picked up a tummy bug, that’s all. I’ll collect him in my dinner hour and see if I can get the afternoon off. Unless Lillian is willing to look after him?’

‘It’s not my mother’s responsibility to mind the children, it’s yours.’

‘I just thought, since she had Ruth and Tom last night, a few more hours wouldn’t make much difference.’

‘Right, that’s it. You’re coming home with me this minute. We’re having no more of this silly nonsense about divorce and custody battles, and you working. You’re
my
wife, they’re
my
kids and I’m taking you back home where you belong.’ So saying, he grabbed hold of her arm and began to drag her down the street.

Judy tried to resist. ‘No Sam. No, I’m not coming. Stop that, Sam, I have work to do. I can’t just leave in the middle of the morning. Stop it, I tell you! Let me go!’

He wasn’t shouting and yelling now. He had himself back under control but was still propelling her down the street with a grip like iron. Judy was the one doing the shouting now, struggling furiously and trying to kick him in the shins or the ankle as he dragged her along. How she broke free she would afterwards never remember, but somehow she managed it.

Calm at last they came to a halt, breathing hard and glaring at each other in silent fury. Judy drew in a trembling breath then, very quietly, and with a voice little more than a cracked whisper, she told him to go home and pour himself a stiff whisky.

‘Tom will be fine, I’m sure. I’ll ring the school and tell them I’ll come to pick him up shortly, in my dinner hour. Don’t worry so much, and don’t ever come round to my workplace creating this sort of havoc ever again, do you hear? You can’t order me about any more. You and me are finished, Sam. It’s over! Get that into your head once and for all.’

And turning smartly on her heel she walked briskly away. But by the time she got back to the work’s office the secretary had an envelope waiting for her and sympathy in her gentle brown eyes. ‘Sorry love, but it’s your cards, and the wages that are due to you. The boss says he can’t have this sort of carry-on, it’s bad for business.’

Judy’s jaw dropped open. ‘You mean I’ve got the sack because my husband came round kicking up a fuss?’

‘I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, but there it is. As from this minute, you’re out of a job.’

Dulcie had decided that it was time to speak to her son. She’d nursed suspicions for some time, now she was certain that she was right.
 

Unbeknown to Helen, Dulcie had watched her daughter-in-law set out on her walk quite late on Saturday afternoon, and when, thirty minutes later, she’d seen Sam Beckett close his little shop and set off in the same direction, she’d known instantly what they were up to.

She hadn’t dared to follow him, not being quite so agile or fleet of foot as she once had been, yet the signs were all there. Helen was involved in an affair, Dulcie was quite certain of it. She was making a fool out of her lovely boy.

And when she’d seen the state of Helen as she came limping home, Dulcie hadn’t been able to resist challenging her on the matter. ‘My dear, what have you been doing? Your pretty dress is covered in grass stains, and you’ve lost one of your sandals. Have you been involved in an accident?’

‘No, Dulcie, I haven’t. I went for a walk by the canal and lost my sandal, so what?’

Helen limped past her into the house. She was still seething inside from the humiliation of being dumped, and really had no wish to be interrogated. All she wanted was a long soak in a hot bath.

Dulcie followed her up the stairs, eyes wide with curiosity but saying nothing until she reached the bathroom door. ‘Were you walking with someone, down by the canal?’

‘What possible business is it of yours?’ Helen snapped.

‘None whatsoever, dear,’ Dulcie sweetly commented. ‘I merely wondered, that’s all. I’ll go and put the kettle on for a cup of tea, shall I? You look as if you need one.’

She’d spent several silent days mulling over the situation but finally, one afternoon, Dulcie had come to her decision. She put on her coat and hat over her twin set and pearls and headed for the warehouse.

How she loved coming down to the docks. It reminded her of happier days when her dear Jonty had been alive and the pair of them had been running the business together. It was a pity, in Dulcie’s view, that Helen didn’t show an equal interest.

As she walked through the gates many of the men recognised her and waved a greeting.

‘Hey-up, Mrs Catlow. How yer keeping?’

‘Gradely,’ she said, laughing.

‘I must say you’re looking quite spry,’ said another.

‘I’m feeling on top of the world, Joe. How’s yourself?’

‘Champion.’

Oh, it was good to be back. Just being in Manchester made her fizz with new vigour. She’d loved her husband, still did for all he was no longer with her, but caring for him had been exhausting. Dulcie hadn’t been able to think straight.

She remembered coming to the yard when she was a new bride of just twenty. The Ship Canal had been operational for less than ten years at that time and she’d found it so exciting to stand beside her husband in this great enterprise of his, as if she were making history. In those early days the trippers had loved to view the Canal and the docks, accommodated on the
Firefly
which would also demonstrate its water hoses since it was the fireboat. Dulcie smiled as she recalled getting soaked on one such trip herself.

She would never forget the thrill of seeing the huge ships sail into the wharf, the dangers involved in the loading and unloading, the troop ships during the Great War and the strikes in the thirties. She and Jonty had worked side by side through two world wars but despite the air raids they’d done their bit to help keep the docks going.

Dulcie had been fifty-six in 1939, an age when many women would have been looking forward to retirement, but she’d felt proud to serve King and country throughout the hostilities. Even during the Christmas Blitz when one of the grain elevators had been bombed, buildings had collapsed and grain had smouldered and burned for days afterwards they hadn’t flinched from carrying on and doing their duty.