something about her mother’s tone; it had a sort of I told you so superiority about it.
‘So you’ve settled then. An’ you’ve no problems .’ That her mother’s remark was more of a statement than a question felt deeply irritating.
‘I said it was fine,’ she answered shortly, ‘and so it is. Although you might have been a bit more helpful about what to expect.’ Now what had she done? That wasn’t at all what she had planned to say but now that she had, there could be no taking it back.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Indignation, yes, that’s it: act affronted, mother.
‘Well, what I would have liked, on my wedding night, is not to have been such a disappointment.’ Now she was making it worse. Oh why, oh why couldn’t she have just kept quiet? It had been all very well fancying this conversation in her head but quite another to actually hold it.
‘So how were you a disappointment then? You cook an’ clean as well as anyone your age an’ know your way around a vegetable garden just fine, so what could there possibly be to disappoint?’
She shook her head and stared down at the surface of the table; the scars from decades of family life beyond disguise even after liberal applications of beeswax and elbow grease spanning those same decades.
‘Please don’t deliberately misunderstand me, Ma,’ she said wearily, running her finger along a particularly deep groove. ‘You know what I mean; I had no idea what to expect that night an’ that is what disappointed him.’ In for a penny…
‘Well of course you didn’t; you were as pure as pure could be. And I think you’ll find that where husbands are concerned, that is a state of affairs of far greater import than whatever it is you mean by knowing what to do , young lady.’
She sighed. This really couldn’t have turned out much worse.
‘Well, Ma, as I have since realised, there’s a difference between being pure , as you put it and being ignorant. I was happy to be the first, not so much the second. That’s all I’m saying.’ Aware now of the tautness taking hold of her body, she forced herself to unclench her jaw.
‘And that’s my fault somehow?’
Not wanting to step beyond the point of no return, she took a breath and adopting what she hoped was a more placatory tone, said, ‘All I’m saying, Ma, is that it would have been nice to know what to do .’
‘ Do ?’ Regarding her mother closely now, she sensed genuine puzzlement. ‘What would you have had me say then, eh? There is nothin’ to do except what you’re told, when you’re told. That’s it. It’s a man’s thing and women just learn to put up with it. The best you can ever hope for is a considerate husband an’ think yourself fortunate.’ Feeling her mother’s fingers pressing into her wrist, she noticed how she had lowered her voice to whisper fiercely, ‘Was that what you wanted me to tell you? That when you stood in that church and promised before God and your family that you would love, cherish and obey your husband till death do you part, that you were giving up all rights over your own body; that from then on, the only thing that you’d still have control over was your mind and then only if you kept your thoughts to yourself? Is that what you wanted to hear on your wedding day? Is it ?’
She had never seen her mother look so – so what? Disappointed? Angry? Embittered? And did she truly believe all that she had just said? Was it what she actually thought? And of perhaps even greater concern, was it actually true? Was there nothing more to matrimonial relations than she had so far discovered? If it was true – and she still hoped desperately to somehow discover that it wasn’t – it would certainly explain why George never passed any comment about her part in any of it and why he always seemed to do the same thing to her in the same way. Although none of this shed the least light on what Ellen had said that day about tenderness and acts of
‘So you’ve settled then. An’ you’ve no problems .’ That her mother’s remark was more of a statement than a question felt deeply irritating.
‘I said it was fine,’ she answered shortly, ‘and so it is. Although you might have been a bit more helpful about what to expect.’ Now what had she done? That wasn’t at all what she had planned to say but now that she had, there could be no taking it back.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Indignation, yes, that’s it: act affronted, mother.
‘Well, what I would have liked, on my wedding night, is not to have been such a disappointment.’ Now she was making it worse. Oh why, oh why couldn’t she have just kept quiet? It had been all very well fancying this conversation in her head but quite another to actually hold it.
‘So how were you a disappointment then? You cook an’ clean as well as anyone your age an’ know your way around a vegetable garden just fine, so what could there possibly be to disappoint?’
She shook her head and stared down at the surface of the table; the scars from decades of family life beyond disguise even after liberal applications of beeswax and elbow grease spanning those same decades.
‘Please don’t deliberately misunderstand me, Ma,’ she said wearily, running her finger along a particularly deep groove. ‘You know what I mean; I had no idea what to expect that night an’ that is what disappointed him.’ In for a penny…
‘Well of course you didn’t; you were as pure as pure could be. And I think you’ll find that where husbands are concerned, that is a state of affairs of far greater import than whatever it is you mean by knowing what to do , young lady.’
She sighed. This really couldn’t have turned out much worse.
‘Well, Ma, as I have since realised, there’s a difference between being pure , as you put it and being ignorant. I was happy to be the first, not so much the second. That’s all I’m saying.’ Aware now of the tautness taking hold of her body, she forced herself to unclench her jaw.
‘And that’s my fault somehow?’
Not wanting to step beyond the point of no return, she took a breath and adopting what she hoped was a more placatory tone, said, ‘All I’m saying, Ma, is that it would have been nice to know what to do .’
‘ Do ?’ Regarding her mother closely now, she sensed genuine puzzlement. ‘What would you have had me say then, eh? There is nothin’ to do except what you’re told, when you’re told. That’s it. It’s a man’s thing and women just learn to put up with it. The best you can ever hope for is a considerate husband an’ think yourself fortunate.’ Feeling her mother’s fingers pressing into her wrist, she noticed how she had lowered her voice to whisper fiercely, ‘Was that what you wanted me to tell you? That when you stood in that church and promised before God and your family that you would love, cherish and obey your husband till death do you part, that you were giving up all rights over your own body; that from then on, the only thing that you’d still have control over was your mind and then only if you kept your thoughts to yourself? Is that what you wanted to hear on your wedding day? Is it ?’
She had never seen her mother look so – so what? Disappointed? Angry? Embittered? And did she truly believe all that she had just said? Was it what she actually thought? And of perhaps even greater concern, was it actually true? Was there nothing more to matrimonial relations than she had so far discovered? If it was true – and she still hoped desperately to somehow discover that it wasn’t – it would certainly explain why George never passed any comment about her part in any of it and why he always seemed to do the same thing to her in the same way. Although none of this shed the least light on what Ellen had said that day about tenderness and acts of
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