Anne Bennett - Walking Back to Happiness

Hannah didn’t mind. She lay back in the seat and watched the miles being eaten away. She wished she had a little gift for the two of them, but she hadn’t even a stick of rock for Josie. Guiltily, she remembered her reckless spending on the slot machines that had swallowed up so much money.

Still what was gone was gone. No use crying over spilt milk was one of Gloria’s sayings and an apt one, Hannah always felt. And that, thought Hannah, is true about my less than satisfactory marriage too.

Despite supposed to be helping Gloria, Josie had run to peep out of the visitors’ lounge window at the front of the house half a dozen times before she saw the taxi turn into the road. ‘They’re here,’ she screamed.

‘All right, all right, I’m not deaf,’ Gloria said, emerging from the kitchen as she spoke, drying her large red hands on a towel. But though her words were sharp, her eyes twinkled, and Josie knew she was pleased Hannah was home too.

Josie barely heard her anyway. She already had the door wrenched open and was halfway down the path.

Arthur and Hannah had emerged from the taxi and were standing with the cases around them when Josie threw herself at Hannah. Hannah felt a sudden rush of love for the child she’d not wanted originally and held her close in a tight hug.

Behind her, Gloria was urging them in. ‘Come in and get a meal inside you. Josie has had her things packed up since just after breakfast. The house is all ready for you. I’ve been over and seen to it. Bought you some basics to give you a start at least, if you’re determined to go there tonight. Lit the fires as well today and yesterday and aired the beds. Can’t be too careful, I say. A house not lived in can easy get damp and September can be a treacherous month.’

Hannah let her talk. It was her way and she was kindness itself. She smiled at her and the beam Gloria gave in reply nearly split her face in two.

Oh, Hannah thought, I’m glad to be back home.

If Hannah could have confided in Gloria she could have told her that her contentment in marriage had lasted just six weeks, until the end of October. It hadn’t been a bed of roses until then of course, for the problems in the bedroom, which Arthur had never managed to control, had caused him great distress.

Added to that, his meanness, which had reared its ugly head on honeymoon, continued into their married life. He doled out meagre amounts of housekeeping every Friday evening, examined the shopping lists meticulously and quizzed Hannah for hours if she asked for more.

Apart from that, Hannah disliked his treatment of Josie. Despite his promise of trying his best to get on with her Hannah couldn’t help feeling that if that was his best, she’d hate to see his worst, for he’d never really taken to the child. Sometimes he was so open in showing his dislike and resentment, that Hannah became frustrated and angry with him.

Then one day, towards the very end of October, Arthur came home from work in a foul mood. He’d been odd for a few days, morose and snappy, but Hannah, thinking he maybe had a problem at work that he didn’t want to talk about, didn’t worry too much about it. But Arthur had no problem at work; his problem was his marriage and that meant Hannah.

Despite inheriting the house and hints the boss was dropping about dependable married men, he doubted he’d have been swayed to marry anyone if Mrs Emmerson hadn’t urged him to ask Hannah. And he had to admit that he’d been flattered when she’d accepted his proposal.

He’d been aware he had a sexual problem. He knew his penis didn’t go hard, but then he thought he’d never given it occasion to. Before Hannah, he’d never had any encounter of that type, knowing his mother wouldn’t have liked it. And not having discussed the matter of a hardened penis with anyone, he didn’t know how normal it was and what to do about it. In fact, he was so hazy about the sexual act that eventually, and with great embarrassment, he’d entered a shop in one of the seedier areas of Birmingham and bought himself a book on the matter.

However, it hadn’t touched on his problems at all. The book seemed to take it for granted that the desire and love the man had for his partner would make the penis erect naturally. It wasn’t something you could ask anyone about, not even a doctor and Arthur had no idea what to do.

In his heart he knew he shouldn’t have married, but he had and that was that. Initially, his abortive attempts caused him shame and embarrassment, then utter humiliation and eventually, anger.

And this anger he turned on Hannah, pushing away her arms when she sought to comfort him that night. ‘Get off me! It’s all your bloody fault,’ he shouted at her when he’d again tried and failed.

‘What is? What is it?’

‘You know what! A bloody temptress that’s what you are!’

Still Hannah felt sorry for him. She was as confused as Arthur over his sexual problem. Like him, she could never bring herself to speak about it, but she understood how it must make him feel. ‘I told you it doesn’t matter,’ she said consolingly.

‘Of course it bloody matters. Are you some sodding imbecile that can’t understand that?’

Hannah gave a small gasp. This was the side of Arthur she’d never seen before. The face he turned towards her was almost puce, he was so angry, and his eyes were wild, his hair standing in spikes where he’d run his hands through it.

Still she persisted. ‘Look, Arthur, I know it’s important, but there’s plenty of time. Shall I pop down and make us both a cup of tea?’

‘Tea! Tea! You bloody stupid bugger, you,’ Arthur cried, pushing at her so that she fell on the bed where he straddled her, holding down her arms while he spat out a stream of abuse, vile words, some Hannah had never heard before.

She thrashed on the bed to free herself, but Arthur held her fast, tightening his grip on her arms while he continued to yell obscenities at her. She closed her eyes for the light was still on and she couldn’t bear the look in his eyes, nor his thin lips, rimmed with spittle.

Eventually, the violent tirade was over and Arthur rolled away from her. Through anger, he’d felt a stirring inside him that any desire he’d felt for Hannah had never achieved, but still he was ashamed of his behaviour.

As for Hannah, she felt abused. If Arthur had had sex with her, which would have been his right after all, she’d have felt it at least showed normal behaviour. But this filthy, vitriolic abuse he threw at her was hard to bear and she hurt and ached all over, too, from his rough handling. Every time she closed her eyes she relived the scene and it was the early hours of the morning before she finally slept.

In the morning, she lay and tried to analyse the situation. Arthur was not naturally a violent man. Obviously, his frustrations had spilled over, that was all. Maybe she should battle to overcome her reticence and try and convince him to seek help. Perhaps there were things he could do, drugs he could take. They could do wonderful things these days.

Arthur, coming into the bedroom from the bathroom after a shave, saw that Hannah was awake and knelt down by her side of the bed. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he said, ‘really sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’

Hannah smiled at him. Hadn’t she just told herself that that was the way of it? A one-off occurrence that would never happen again and so didn’t have to be referred to at all. ‘It’s all right,’ she told him. ‘I understand.’

‘You are a wonderful wife,’ Arthur said earnestly, giving Hannah’s cheek a kiss. ‘The most wonderful wife in all the world.’

It was a little harder for Hannah to face Josie, who showed by her plain embarrassment and downcast eyes that she’d heard every word of the confrontation in the bedroom the previous night. Still, it wasn’t something Hannah felt she had to explain and certainly not to a child of nine, so she busied herself making breakfast.