The Runaway Woman. Josephine Cox

      Having suffered yet another sleepless night, Lucy lay very still in the bed, being careful not to wake Martin, who was gently snoring beside her. He was sleeping so peacefully, she was made to wonder if he ever thought about their lives together; about how futile and cold it all seemed.

      Yet, for all her regrets and insecurities, Lucy had put her heart and soul into being a good wife, a loving mother and a loyal sister, even though sometimes she resented the manner in which the family took her for granted. They rarely ever asked her how she was, or how her day had been at the factory.

      Over the years, she had suggested to her sister, Paula, that it might be nice to spend a pleasant hour or so shopping in Bedford, and maybe enjoying a light lunch before they headed home. Unfortunately there was always a reason why Paula could not go with her. Lucy accepted the situation without question.

      She had offered her own daughter, Anne, the same invitation, but she was too busy, or going out with a friend, or just not in the mood. In the end, to avoid embarrassment, Lucy stopped asking.

      Every year her birthday was almost a non-event. Even when she put on a little family party, they were either very late to arrive, or they presented an excuse for not arriving at all. She always received a present from Martin and the children, but because of other pressures or simply absent-mindedness, she often had to wait until the next day, when they would rush in with apologies. She never made a fuss, because what would be the point?

      They hardly ever made time to sit and chat with her. Anne and Paula’s visits would be little more than a cup of tea, then a quick peck on the cheek and they’d be off out the door. More often than not, Martin would then go off down the pub. ‘I’ll not be long,’ he’d promise her. But it would be gone midnight when he got home.

      Lucy was daunted by the fact that she would soon be forty years old, especially when she considered she had done nothing with her life. She had never seen much outside Wayburn, and as the years went by, the idea of travelling and doing the exciting things she had once dreamed of seemed increasingly out of her reach. She now feared her life would remain as it was until she became old and unable to make changes.

      As with all the other birthdays, she wondered if this landmark birthday would arrive quietly and leave on tiptoe, though if it did she knew she would take it in her stride, as ever, while secretly wondering if her family could ever love her as much as she loved them.

      There were even times when she asked herself if she was a useless wife, mother and grandmother. She hoped not, because her family was all she had. In fact, they were her very world. Consequently she felt it was wrong of her to ask more of them than they could give.

      There was one bright side to Lucy’s life, however. She was immensely grateful for her job at the plastics factory. She took great pride in her work, and enjoyed the company of her lively colleagues. Chatting with them made her feel alive, because to them she was not just someone’s wife, mother or grandmother. Instead, she was Lucy, a well-respected and much-valued workmate.

      Deep in thought, Lucy was startled to hear the hallway clock strike five. Careful not to wake Martin, she slithered out of bed and into her dressing gown, then she softly slid the eiderdown over the dip in the bed where she had lain.

      Gazing down on her sleeping husband, she tortured herself with regrets. So many wasted years, she thought bitterly. So many lost dreams.

      Inevitably, her thoughts returned to their two children. Sam was now twenty-one. Like all young men he could be bullish and unpredictable, but beneath all the bravado, he had a sense of purpose.

      At twenty-three, Anne was her first-born. She was confident, easily hassled, and occasionally argumentative. She was the mother of Luke, almost one year old.

      The thought of her only grandchild brought a measure of joy to Lucy’s heart. Full of life, he had a ready smile and laughing eyes that made you want to dance, and he was an absolute delight.

      Taking a moment to close her eyes, Lucy cast her mind back to when she was a shy, innocent girl, afraid of everyone and everything; until Martin made friends with her in the school grounds one sunny afternoon.

      With his smiling brown eyes and wild shock of thick, dark hair, he stood out from the crowd. Tall and lean, with an attractive, lazy way of walking, he was a magnet to the opposite sex. After that first meeting, Lucy was instantly drawn to him, though never in a million years did she imagine how their lives would intertwine. It would have been impossible to believe that less than two years after their first date she would not only be Martin’s wife, but she would also be mother to his child.

      Over the years, Lucy had often wondered about that fateful night, when curiosity, excitement and a sense of belonging took away their common sense. The consequence of that had carried them to this point in their lives, and Lucy had come to realise how wrong they had been to get married, especially when they were both so young, with little knowledge of real life and responsibility. The sad truth was, that she had never been truly happy; not on the day they got married, and certainly not now.

      For a long time, she had desperately wanted to find a way out of this mundane life, but her strong sense of duty gave her no easy way out.

      Now, she often looked down on Martin’s sleeping face, and thought that, yes, she did love him; if loving him was to take care of him, to feed him, wash and iron his clothes and do her best to make sure he was content.

      She went to gaze out the window. I do love you, Martin, she thought, but I don’t know you … at least not in the way I should.

      She resented the way he had always made the important decisions without consulting her. Also, she resented the cowardly way she had allowed herself to go along with his decisions. When they were still at school and she found herself pregnant, it was Martin who had decided that keeping it a secret was the best thing to do. Also, it was he who’d insisted they should get married as soon as possible so that no one would find out right away. But they had been wrong, Lucy now knew. They should have confided in someone older and wiser, whom they could trust. Someone who might have helped them.

      Choking back the anger, she became tearful. I should never have listened to you, she thought. I wanted to tell them the truth, but you wouldn’t let me. She recalled vividly how he threatened to say the baby wasn’t his.

      Though when Mum guessed I was pregnant, you did stand by me. Even so, on my sixteenth birthday, when we were getting married, I was so afraid that you would get scared and run off at the last minute and I would have to face it all on my own.

      Her homely features creased in a smile. You didn’t run though, did you? She turned, crept back and kissed him softly on the cheek. ‘Now though, I can’t understand what’s happened to us, Martin,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not happy, and sometimes I believe you feel the same.’

      When a tear escaped down her cheek, she angrily wiped it away. It was no good crying. What was done was done, and there seemed no turning back.

      She continued to observe him a moment longer, hating herself for being cowardly back then when they were unsure and afraid. How could she ever forget the shame and the trauma when they told their families that she was expecting a child, when she was little more than a child herself?

      On the whole, over the years, Martin had been a good man. Right from when their daughter was born, he had proved himself to be a good husband and a fine father – although if she were honest there had been times when she might have preferred him to spend more time at home with her and the baby.

      That particular problem still niggled her, especially when he chose to share all his leisure time with his mates, rather than with her. She was at home every evening – at first with the babies, and now alone.

      Lucy’s insecurities had never really gone away.

      What if he had never loved her at all? What if he had only married her because she was having his child? Maybe, unknown to her, he also had regret and doubts about the traumatic decision they had made