The Afternoon Tea Club. Jane Gilley

out and this is no different. Besides, I really think you should do something about Daddy.’

      But Marjorie had always been frightened of Oliver and simply didn’t know what to do. And even if she had told someone about her troubles with him, would they have wanted to get involved in all that? She suspected they’d have told her to leave him. But she was a housewife and funds were limited at best. She had no access to surplus money in order to move away, so she’d felt trapped.

      Gracie had never understood the reasoning behind her father’s venom. Weren’t you supposed to have loving, caring parents around you as you grew up? She’d tried to intervene once, standing between her beloved mother and crazed father. But she’d got a furious verbal diatribe from him. He hadn’t hit her but he’d sworn and yelled loudly enough to warn her off interfering again. And he’d also frightened their friends away over the years when they’d rung – often by brusquely telling them Marjorie or Gracie were out. So they’d stopped ringing. At school, Gracie had tried to explain to her friends what was going on at home.

      ‘He’s completely unreasonable, so never call me at home, okay? It’s too risky. We’ll make plans for the weekend here at school instead.’

      Marjorie had been so wrapped up in avoiding Oliver’s fury or trying to placate him that she’d forgotten what kind of impact it might have been having on their young daughter. The result of which was that her darling Gracie wanted to leave home. Yet why should Gracie suffer the consequences of her father’s actions?

      ‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry it’s come to this,’ Marjorie had said, sobbing, as the reality of Gracie’s words hit home. ‘I know I should’ve sorted it all out, somehow, years ago. But I’ve never really known what to do about your father. Look, please stay. We’ll work something out, Gracie. Please don’t go, sweetheart. Oh, I couldn’t bear it if you left!’

      But Gracie had stood her ground.

      ‘It’s not your fault, Mother. He’s unresponsive to reason. It’s domestic violence, pure and simple. He’s a wife-beater and it’s a criminal offence. There’s no other way to dress it up. So I can’t stay. I can’t stand seeing what he does to you every day and feeling helpless about what to do. It’s not right. You should report him, even though I know you’re scared. Anyway, my leaving will help – I know he didn’t want me so that makes me part of the problem.’

      ‘Gracie, none of this is about you!’ Marjorie had pleaded. ‘Are you listening to me? None of it. It’s his doing. He’s the problem. Good God, I should never have let it get this far. But I thought I was dealing with it in my own way. Darling, please! I’m so sorry it’s come to this.’

      ‘I know you’re sorry, Mum, and I just wish I could make it all better for you but nothing I say makes any difference. It still goes on. Anyway, my friends have booked the trip now, so I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m … I’m going.’

      Marjorie knew she had to concede to her daughter’s wishes. But she daren’t tell Oliver. And so one morning, before Oliver was awake, she smuggled Gracie away to the bus stop. Time away from the family would probably be good for Gracie. She was young; she had prospects and her own life to lead. Marjorie knew she couldn’t hold her back indefinitely, even though she secretly wanted to hold on to her forever. And then, needing someone to tell, she’d gone round and offloaded to her best friend, Lou, sobbing remorsefully on her lap, whilst Lou had patted her friend’s head.

      ‘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