Nowhere to Run: Where do you go when there’s nowhere left to hide?. Judy Westwater

you ever leave me, I’ll come and get you,’ he threatened. ‘If you leave me, I’ll bloody kill you.’

      I knew he meant it. I felt trapped and instead of making an escape plan I determined to fix it by being better at everything I did. If only I could be a good-enough wife, everything would be fine.

      One day, when I’d still only been married a couple of weeks, I took our washing to the laundrette. Roger had said this was all right. ‘You’re a scrubber anyway,’ he sniped.

      At that time no one did laundry at home. I packed all our dirty stuff into two big carrier bags and set off down the road. When I got there it was busy. Women were standing round chatting as they waited for their loads to finish. Up at the back there was a kettle and someone had made a pot of tea. I got in the queue.

      It was certainly better than when I was growing up and I used to have to go to the washhouse with Freda. Even when I was under school age she made me haul a heavy steel bath full of laundry for her. Washing the linen would take her all day. In Openshawe, where Roger and I lived, there was a brand new laundry with big, steel machines. You just had to wait for the machine to do your washing and then transfer your load into one of the driers.

      In front of me there was a cheery woman who was sorting out masses of kids clothes.

      ‘Looks like you’ve got quite a brood there,’ I said.

      ‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘Keeps you busy. How about you?’ she glanced over at the contents of my bag.

      ‘No. Just married a fortnight ago,’ I said, trying to smile bravely.

      ‘Oh that’s a good time of your life. You savour it, love. I’m Kathleen McAvoy.’

      I shook her hand. ‘Judy Lethbridge.’ My married name still sounded foreign when I said it.

      ‘Well, Mrs Lethbridge,’ she said, ‘it’s nice to meet you.’

      Kathleen helped me operate the machines and showed me how much washing powder to use. She told me about her sons, Brian, Gary and Mark. Mark, the youngest, had only just started school. The older boys, she said, were wild.

      ‘They’re good kids though. Mind you, the noise sometimes! Still, it’s lonely round the house without the little one there,’ Kathleen said. ‘But you never know. I hope I’ll have a little girl next. What are you planning?’

      I shrugged my shoulders.

      ‘Oh,’ she laughed, as if that explained my reticence. ‘Newly wed. I forgot.’

      Once the washing was all done Kathleen and I left the laundrette together and wandered back up towards Compass Street. I told her about my time at Belle Vue and it turned out she had come to see the show a few months before with her cousin.

      ‘Ron stayed in with the kids for once. Was that you on the trapeze? I can’t believe it. Lord, you must miss that, love.’

      ‘Do you fancy coming in for a cup of tea?’ I asked.

      ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘That’d be nice.’

      I put the key in the lock and we left our laundry bags in the hallway.

      ‘Nice for you and your husband to be just starting out together.’ Kathleen took in the sparse surroundings as I put on the kettle. I made a pot of tea and put it on the kitchen table to brew. I was just about to pour it when I heard the key in the front door.

      ‘That’ll be Roger,’ I said, and immediately anxiety filled the pit of my stomach. It was too early for him to come back. There shouldn’t be a problem, I told myself. I’ll just introduce Kathleen to him. It’ll be fine. She’s a neighbour. But one look at Roger’s face and it was clear he was furious.

      ‘What the hell is this? A tea party?’ he spat at me.

      Kathleen got up uncomfortably. ‘I’ll just pop off then, shall I?’

      ‘Just pop off then, shall I?’ Roger mimicked her and then turned his wrath on me. ‘Swanning round all day with your mates, are you? Doing whatever you want? Enjoying yourself, are you? This is my house, you know.’

      I could see he was building up to a real fury. He looked as if he might smash something.

      ‘You’re my wife!’ he shouted. ‘Mine! And you go bringing people back to my house without my permission. Jesus! You’re so two-faced. I never know what the hell you’re up to.’

      Kathleen started to make for the door.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to her.

      ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said, staring right at Roger. ‘You watch out for yourself.’

      Roger’s jealousy got worse and worse over the weeks and it became clear that he didn’t want me to see anyone or do anything. On another day I was on my way back from the corner shop when I met one of the neighbours opposite who had a new baby. She had the little girl swaddled in a pretty blanket.

      ‘Oh congratulations,’ I said. The baby looked so sweet.

      Suddenly, Roger burst out of our front door with a bright red face. He marched straight across the road, grabbed me by the hair and hauled me back towards the house without saying so much as a word. I knew why. He had told me to fetch him something and, as far as he was concerned, stopping to talk to a neighbour was an unnecessary and rebellious delay. Behind me, the woman was horrified.

      ‘Do you want me to call the police?’ she called after me as I disappeared into the house.

      ‘No,’ I said, gritting my teeth against the pain in my scalp. ‘No. It’s fine.’

      I was miserable but I wanted to deal with the problems myself. The idea of anyone else being involved mortified me. I had wanted my marriage to be perfect. I had believed it when Roger told me that he loved me. And now, as that image cracked and crumbled I felt that it was all my fault. Here I was, trapped again, with no money, no family and no friends. The echoes of my childhood were deafening.

      ‘You’re useless,’ he ranted at me. ‘Just look at you!’

      And I believed him. I wanted to hide away, to withdraw from sight.

      One of the neighbours tried to help. Old Mrs Burgess had probably seen just about everything in her day. One afternoon, when Roger was out, there was a rap on the door.

      ‘Hello, pet,’ she said kindly. ‘Can I come in?’

      I glanced up and down the street, nervously. Roger had gone over to Belle Vue and wouldn’t be back until late. I nodded and let her into the hallway.

      Everyone on the street knew what was going on. Roger made no secret of it. When I was growing up my father had made a big effort to cover his systematic violence and abuse. By contrast, Roger thought he had a perfect right to grab me by the hair or scream at me in public. In a small community like Compass Street I was painfully aware that all my neighbours knew what my husband was like.

      Mrs Burgess sighed. She had kind blue eyes and a steady air that gave her dignity. ‘I’m sorry for your trouble,’ she said. ‘Is there anything that I can do for you, love?’

      I felt like crying but I held everything in. ‘No. No. It’s fine.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      I cast my eyes to the floor. ‘Yes.’

      All my life having anyone else involved had only made things worse. I was determined to deal with this myself. I could bear anything as long as it was only up to me. I’d fix it. I’d survive. I always had. Mrs Burgess reached out and touched my arm.

      ‘You know where I live,’ she said. ‘If you ever change your mind.’

      Slowly, Roger got worse. Sometimes there were a couple of days when things seemed almost normal, but then, without any warning he flew into a jealous rage. He didn’t trust me, or anything that I said.

      ‘No