Our Lizzie (32 page)

Eva walked back to kiss the air above the powder clotted in her mother's wrinkled cheeks. She dislodged the thin hands that clawed at her lapels and gritted her teeth as the whining voice begged her “not to forget her family.”

“Goodbye now, Mam.”

“I've got a big umbrella so I'll see you to the station, Eva love,” Percy said abruptly. “I'll be back in a few minutes, Mam, to take you home.”

Johnny, who was fed up of all the fuss, got up and hurried out after him. “I'm coming too. I don't care if I get wet.”

Percy put one hand on his shoulder. “All right, lad. But slow down a bit and wait for Eva, eh? She can't walk fast in those shoes.”

“Women are silly, wearing them high heels,” he muttered, but shut up as Percy's elbow dug him in the ribs.

Meg watched them go with a sour expression on her face, muttering, “Oh, don't mind me. No one else does. Just leave me waiting around.”

Sam had had enough of this. He stood up. “I reckon it's time for me to take my wife home. I'll just go and settle our bill, then I'll come back for you, Lizzie.”

She nodded shyly. Harry Preston, from across the road in Bobbin Lane, would have carried her suitcase with the last of her possessions in it round to Maidham Street by now. This was the end of her time as a Kershaw.

Seeing the undisguised malice on her mother's face, she felt nervousness surge through her. It had been fun to be the centre of attention for once, and to know herself smartly turned out, but now she had to go home to begin a new life with Sam. Lizzie drew in a long, shaky breath and admitted to herself that she wasn't quite sure how tonight would go. If she would disappoint him.

“It'll hurt, you know,” Meg said conversationally. “You won't enjoy tonight at all, Lizzie
Thoxby
.”

“Mam, stop it! That's a dreadful thing to say!” Polly turned to her sister, horrified to see how white Lizzie had suddenly become.

“But true all the same.” Meg lifted her glass of port and lemon to her lips and sipped slowly, happy to have got a good dig in.

Sam reappeared in the doorway. “Come on, love. The cab's waiting.” Then he saw Lizzie's face. “What's the matter?”

She tried to pull herself together. “Nothing. I just—I felt sad it was all over.”

Polly rushed across to hug her. “Don't pay Mam any attention,” she whispered. “She's just saying that out of spite.” Then she turned to Sam. “Look after my sister.” She held out her hand to him.

He shook it in a perfunctory way, looked suspiciously at Mrs. Kershaw, wondering what she had said, and hurried Lizzie out. She was his now and he didn't care if they never saw her bloody family again. Especially that old loony.

When they were alone together, Polly turned on her mother. “That was a right nasty thing to say. Why do you do such things, Mam?”

Meg scowled and repeated the same old catch phrases. “It's better to face the truth. Your father spoiled her rotten. And beside, that one will never be any good in bed. You can always tell. She'll never be any good at anything else, either. He'll soon rue this day.”

Polly went to pick up her handbag and gloves, then marched towards the door, calling over her shoulder as she went, “I'm ashamed of you. Downright ashamed.” She didn't usually speak her mind to her mother, because it didn't do any good, but today she had to say something.

“Hoity-toity!” Meg muttered and reached across for Eva's glass which was still half-full.

When Percy came back, he found her alone, sitting sobbing amid the debris. “They've left me alone, Percy. Even Polly's left me. No one cares about me any more.”

He didn't know what had happened, but he knew something had. “Come on, Mam,” he said wearily. “Let's get you home. I'm still here.”

“Go and call a cab.”

“The rain's stopped now. We can walk.”

“Oh, yes, nothing's too good for her, but
I
have to walk.”

Her voice rose higher on each word and Percy saw a waiter peeping in at the door.

“I'll go and get you a cab, then.” He rushed out, wishing he need never return to Bobbin Lane. Eva had kissed him at the station and promised she'd try to get over more often. Johnny had gone off home, promising to get the fire burning brightly. But if he knew Johnny, the lad would rush off to one of his friends' houses once he'd changed his clothes and forget about the fire. Whatever promises folk made, there'd be only Percy and his mother in Bobbin Lane that night. He was always left to deal with her, and it was getting harder and harder to do it with a good grace.

*   *   *

Lizzie got into the cab with Sam, silent now, her mother's words still echoing in her head. When he took her hand, she clutched him gratefully.

“What did the old bag say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Don't lie to me, lass. What did she say?”

Lizzie raised troubled eyes to his face, felt a shiver of fear run through her and burst out, “She said it'd hurt tonight.”

“The old sow!”

“Sam—will it?”

He cast a quick glance towards the cab driver. “Shh!” Hell, he didn't know how to answer her. He'd never had a virgin before, had he? “It might. Only a bit. Just at first.”

Lizzie gulped back her fears as best she could and sat quietly, waiting for the horse to clop its way up the gentle incline to Maidham Street. All the glow had gone out of the day, somehow.

When they got out, rain was threatening again and the sky was full of black clouds. Her suitcase was waiting for them outside the front door. Sam paid the cabbie and then came back to open the door with his new key.

She waited for him to pick her up and carry her over the threshold, but another flurry of rain caught them just then and instead he grabbed her suitcase and pushed her inside, shouting, “Quick!”

She stopped in the hallway and said reproachfully, “Oh, Sam!”

“What? What's the matter?” He hung his new bowler hat carefully on the hallstand.

“You were supposed to carry me over the threshold.”

“Oh, hell. I forgot.” Then he shrugged. “Well, it's too late now. I don't fancy going out again in that lot.” The front door was rattling with the violence of the squall. He dumped the suitcase at the foot of the stairs and walked on into the kitchen.

Lizzie followed, still feeling like a stranger here.

He kicked at the grate, scowling at the embers. “Bloody thing's gone out.” In truth, he'd forgotten to bank up the coals before he left.

She tried to speak cheerfully. “I'll just go upstairs and change, then I'll see to it. I'm good with fires.” She didn't comment on the mess the table was in, but turned to pick up her suitcase. Sam followed her up the stairs, but he didn't offer to take the case from her as Percy would have done.

“I need to change, too,” he said. “This bloody collar's nearly choking me.”

When she got inside the bedroom, she couldn't help noticing the mess there as well. Hadn't he put a single thing away since he'd moved in? She'd straightened things up one day, after they'd gone shopping for food together to stock up the pantry. Now, clothes were strewn everywhere again and the bed was a tangle of sheets and blankets. She looked at him a bit shyly. “Do you want to change first?”

“Nay, we can both do it at the same time.”

Lizzie had to gulp in air. She hadn't thought—he'd see her every day—it was only to be expected—but still she felt shy of getting undressed with him watching. “Yes.” Her voice came out small and afraid.

“Want some help takin' your things off?” He smiled, his expression that of a cat watching a bird in the back yard and waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Lizzie wished he wouldn't stare at her like that. “N-no. I'm fine. I'll just—” She picked up her suitcase and put it on the bed. “I'll just unpack and p-put on some ordinary clothes, then I'll set to and sort this place out.”

He was still standing looking at her, hadn't moved an inch.

She glanced sideways. “Is—is something wrong, Sam?”

“Oh, no. Nothing's wrong at all. Only I don't see any point in you lighting the fire downstairs tonight. It's cold and dark, an' we've had a good feed. We may as well go to bed now.”

“But it's only seven o'clock!”

He began to walk towards her. “Well, it is our wedding night, isn't it? And we can go to bed what time we like in our own house.”

She felt paralysed with fear and didn't enjoy the smell of beer mingled with the sweeter odour of rum that gusted from his mouth as he loomed over her. “Can't we—take things a bit—a bit slowly tonight? I'm nervous, Sam, and I—” Her words were lost as he pulled her towards him and covered her mouth with his, grinding his lips into hers, so that she couldn't breathe properly.

She felt terror rise up in her, and when he pulled away briefly, she whispered, “Sam! My new clothes.”

He drew back a little. “Get 'em off quick, then, because if you don't, I'll tear them off.” His voice was thick and husky and his eyes held such a strange light they frightened her.

She began to fumble for the buttons.

He started removing his own clothes, casting sideways glances at her, predatory glances that sent chills of fear curling through her belly.

One by one, Lizzie set her new clothes carefully on the bedside chair. Then, standing there in her camisole and fancy drawers, her face burning with embarrassment, she asked, “Could we put the light off now, Sam?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Hell, no! I want to see you, every blessed inch of you. You're my wife now, Lizzie Thoxby, an' I mean to make the most of that.”

When she didn't move, he slid down his woollen drawers, kicked them aside and came across to get her.

She couldn't take her eyes off him, never having seen a man in that state before. He was so big—terrifyingly big. Eva had told her that the man put his
thing
inside you, but Lizzie couldn't believe Sam's would fit into her. It would surely rip her apart. With a whimper, she turned to flee, but he was there beside her, one hand holding her fast by the upper arm.

He laughed and then, excited by her fear, ripped the camisole from her and carried her across to the bed. There he pulled down her drawers and slung them aside, after which he started running his rough hands over her body, gloating at its softness. Her breasts were small but firm. He pinched one nipple and ignored her gasp of pain as he pinched the other, then sucked at it experimentally. Nice. When he moved his hands below her waist, she tried to fend him off, but he slapped her away.

She lay there in sheer terror as he continued his exploration, sticking his fingers between her legs, doing things that shocked her rigid. But as he loomed over her, she knew she couldn't fight him, could only lie there and let him do what he wanted. Because a woman had to go through this to be properly married.

But when he pushed his thing at her, it hurt, and so badly that she couldn't help screaming, then screaming again, the shrill sound ripping out of her throat involuntarily.

One big hand came up to cover her mouth and hold it shut as he continued to grunt and push at her. She could only whimper and jerk against the pain from then on.

“Ah!” He let out a shout of triumph. “Ah, ah!” Then he began to thrust inside her.

A painful eternity later, he stiffened above her, gave a long, dull roar, and collapsed on to her. Lizzie could hardly breathe, even though his hand had now fallen from her mouth.

When at last he rolled off her, she still didn't dare move.

He fumbled for the bedcovers and pulled them over himself. “I allus wanted to take a virgin,” he muttered. “Sorry it hurt, love. They say it's better for the woman the second time.” He turned over, let out a long, satisfied sigh and fell asleep.

Lizzie lay there with tears trickling down her cheeks, and not until he began to snore did she slide out of the bed and stumble towards the bathroom. Her mam had been right. It had hurt—a lot. But what had hurt most of all had been Sam's total lack of concern for her feelings. Not once had he kissed or cuddled her or made her feel loved. He had only snatched and grabbed and pinched at her body.

And inexperienced as she was, she knew that holding his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet was not the right thing to do. Couldn't he have been gentler? She'd seen Mrs. D cuddling her husband and they'd seemed to enjoy touching each other. Lizzie hadn't enjoyed Sam touching her, not at all.

Sitting on the toilet seat, her head in her hands, all the fears she had been suppressing came rushing back and she whispered, “What am I going to do?”

But there was nothing she could do. She was married to him and could only make the best of it. Except perhaps try to persuade him be more gentle with her.

In the morning he proved how impossible that was, grabbing her as soon as he woke up and starting to touch her again, prodding her with his thing until he got it inside. And although it didn't hurt as much, it was still not a pleasant experience. But Lizzie managed not to cry out this time. Or to weep. Though she wanted to.

It was a relief when he finished, slapped her bare bottom and sent her downstairs to get his breakfast.

Chapter Eighteen

1914

For the rest of her life, Lizzie was to wonder at how unaware they all were, in the year that followed her marriage, of the war that was looming. Oh, they knew there were troubles in the world, but they didn't realise that these particular troubles would hit England so hard and would take so many of their menfolk away. No war before had ever made such a big difference to the lives of ordinary people, even those on what they soon learned to call the “home front.”

And anyway, she was too engrossed in her own troubles at that point to care about anything else. As the year unfolded, she tried hard to make the best of her marriage. At least in her daily living she didn't want for anything—food or clothes or nice furniture for the house. In fact, she sometimes wondered how Sam had managed to accumulate all this money, for he always had plenty in his pocket, and encouraged her to furnish the house in great style. Her weekly housekeeping money was reasonable and she could manage on it and even put aside a shilling or two—for she still felt insecure enough to need that. Sam knew about the savings she had brought with her, for he had gone through all her things quite openly. He had pounced on the savings book, then thrown it back to her with a laugh.