Jane Gilley - The Afternoon Tea Club

‘Oh, I thought summat was amiss with Oliver. I’d heard talk. And your poor girl. But you can’t be standing for all that nonsense, love. Tell him I’ll send my son Derek round if he comes for yer again!’

But Marjorie was convinced things would only get worse for her if she tried that suggestion. Instead, she found the courage to secretly buy a pay-as-you-go mobile phone, so she could ring Lou privately when things got too bad. Unfortunately, Oliver found it and smashed it to smithereens and then punished her.

‘You’ll not be going behind my back and gossiping with your friends about me!’ he’d shouted at her, as Marjorie cowered in a corner, quietly sobbing.

He’d once, laughingly, justified his treatment of Marjorie to their friends, on an impromptu night out. They hadn’t known what was going on until then. ‘A good beating is all these women understand!’ He’d smirked at their shocked faces.

Oliver’s temper had continued to simmer under the surface until Gracie got married and moved to Dorset. Gracie’s husband, Harry, was a police officer, but he’d told Gracie there was nothing anyone could really do unless her mother made a formal complaint or someone saw her bruises. So Gracie persuaded her mother to wear a light sleeveless summer top at their next summer barbecue and then, when Harry finally saw the bruises for himself that day, he stepped in to have a serious word.

‘Fuck’s going on, Oliver? What’s this all about? If I ever see anything else like this again or if I bloody well even hear about it, I’m doin’ you! So think on, mate!’

Outraged, Oliver had then been careful to hit Marjorie where the bruises weren’t so easily spotted! But the frequency, Marjorie was relieved to note, dissipated.

After Gracie divorced Harry for his infidelities and rented a flat, back where Marjorie and Oliver lived in Hampshire, Gracie hoped she’d finally be able to help her mother, providing she could persuade her to be helped.

‘You’ve got to leave him, Mum. Look, why don’t you come and live with me, now I’m on my own? I’ve got the two bedrooms so we can have one each. It’d be nice to have some company for a change and we get on well enough, you and I, don’t we? We could have days out and, well, I just think it would be lovely for us both,’ Gracie had said.

It had sounded like a heavenly idea to Marjorie.

‘Well, I’d like to leave, Gracie, but to be honest I’m frightened of him. What if he made life even more unbearable for us, in some way? Besides I don’t want to involve you in all of that again. At least it’s not as bad as it used to be. Anyway, darling, you deserve a happier life now you’re free from Harry and you’ve got some lovely friends and a good job at the school. I know you mean well, sweetie, but I’ll be okay. I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?’

To herself, when she was alone, polishing and cleaning the house the way Oliver liked it or when he was down the pub, drinking heavily and playing snooker with his old army mates, Marjorie used to think, Why are we still together if you don’t love me? Divorce might have been an option for some people but she knew Oliver would never grant her one and she wouldn’t have wanted one anyway. So, mostly, she just wished he was dead.

And then he did die.

He died one Sunday morning sitting at the table, chewing his toast, waiting for his bacon and eggs, banging on the table with the handle of his knife, making dents in the table top.

‘Where’s my bloody breakfast?’ he’d called from the dining room. ‘And if you don’t hurry up – aargh! Wha’s happenin’ to me? Marj! Marj!’

Hearing the change in his tone from anger to panic, Marjorie had rushed into the dining room and then stopped, realising exactly what was happening. Her father had died from a stroke too. They told you the signs to watch out for on the telly. She watched in disbelief as her husband slid from the table onto the floor; his right hand hooked like a claw, reaching out to her in his last gesture of anger.

‘Do something, b-bitch!’

But something snapped in Marjorie at that moment. How dare he!

How absolutely dare he speak to her like that! She’d given him her life and he’d trodden all over it. His awfulness had even sent Gracie out of their door. And this was how he was treating her, even now? She’d been totally prepared to help him, until that point, despite the relentless abuse he’d inflicted on her.

Instead, she took a deep breath and folded her arms. She would help him – she’d be his wife to the bitter end, as per her wedding vows – but she had something to say to him first.

‘It serves you right, you old bastard!’ she said, exuberantly.

She saw one of Oliver’s eyebrows flick up in surprise; she’d never dared answer him back before.

‘Do you realise what you’ve done to us, over all these years? Did you enjoy inflicting all that pain? Did it make you feel more worthy as a man?’

He didn’t answer. His eyebrow dropped; his eyes stared out in front of him.

She was aware of the tick, tick, ticking of the dining room clock, as she waited for an answer. She even thought at the very least he might say, ‘I’m sorry, love.’ How very different their lives might have been, if he hadn’t been such a beast of a man! How very different their days might have been, if he’d been kind, instead of forcing his wife and daughter to walk on eggshells, fearful of what he might do or say to them next!

Why wouldn’t he answer her? Clearly he wasn’t remorseful in the slightest about the way he’d treated her over the years!

With a sigh, she turned to ring the doctor.

‘Well, he’s gone all red like he’s choking or something. But I don’t, um, I don’t know how to dislodge anything if it’s stuck, you see. Well no. We’re old folks, love, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything like that. The – the what did you call it? The something thrust? No, I don’t know how to do it, love,’ Marjorie replied to the doctor’s receptionist. ‘Yes, I think he was eating some toast. I tried banging on his back but nothing’s come out. Oh, wait a minute. Oh, gosh! Oh, now it looks like he’s not breathing. So shall I, um, shall I ring the ambulance instead?’