being sodomised.
Thankfully as the years progressed, he tried less and less. Until one last final attempt.
She fought him off as usual, but this time it was different; instead of anger he had broken down and cried, saying her rejection and hysterics made him feel like an animal. He was ruined, less than a man now. Assuming he’d become impotent, she hadn’t cared. After all, it was no more than he deserved. And anyway, it was a relief to settle down into a platonic relationship.
Now, shaking her head, she got off the bed, smoothing the covers automatically behind her. Walking slowly into the bathroom she stared at herself in the mirror, seeing her own pain-filled eyes staring back. Perhaps it was thinking about the past that caused it, she didn’t know, but the realisation of what she had done suddenly hit her, and her face stretched in horror.
My God! It was her fault that Harry had lost control with Sally. If only she hadn’t rejected him for all of their married life, if only she had tried to get help … Gazing at her reflection she was filled with shame and self-hatred. She deserved this – deserved this empty house and empty life.
Turning on the taps she filled the sink with water, then, snatching the nailbrush, she began to scrub her hands violently. They were dirty, so dirty; she had to get them clean.
Finally, exhausted, she looked with dispassion at her red, raw flesh, before her eyes scanned the bathroom. It was filthy too; she had to clean it, just look at the muck. She hurried downstairs and filled a bucket with hot, steaming water. Then, adding a liberal amount of soda, she bent down, grabbing a scrubbing brush and cloth from under the sink.
Chapter Twelve
I n Blackpool, Barbara and Ken were walking along the front. A cold easterly wind was blowing, snatching at her scarf, and she impatiently tightened the knot under her chin.
I hope this one’s better than the others we’ve seen, she thought, hooking her arm through Ken’s. According to the agent’s details the house sounded perfect. Six bedrooms, a large reception and dining room, with the bonus of a basement. A snip, he said, at eighteen hundred pounds. Why was it so cheap, she wondered, when all the other properties of this size were way beyond their budget, despite the treasure trove they had found.
She smiled, remembering their arrival in Blackpool. It had been pouring with rain and Ken was still hardly speaking to her. They had tramped the back streets, looking for an out-of-the-way bed and breakfast, their shoulders drooping wearily when they found that most were closed until the start of the summer season.
Eventually they had come across a seedy-looking house with a board declaring Vacancies in the window. The sour-faced landlady had begrudgingly booked them in, and they’d sunk onto the rickety bed gratefully, too tired to bother about the state of the grubby room.
It had been the cash box she’d found in the safe that changed everything. Ken had forced it open, gasping at the large rolls of notes that spilled onto the bed. A small book remained at the bottom and she smiled, remembering how Ken had pulled it out, eagerly flicking the pages.
‘The crafty old sod,’ he’d chuckled. ‘Look, he’s been on a right old fiddle.’
She hadn’t understood the neat rows of figures, until Ken had pointed out that the landlord had two other barmaids listed as working in the pub.
‘But there weren’t any other barmaids,’ she’d protested.
‘That’s just it. Don’t you see, Babs,’ he had cried excitedly, ‘he’s claiming for non-existent staff and copping their wages. Christ, looking at the amount of dosh here, he must ’ave been at it for years.’
Oh, she’d been furious. She had worked like a slave in that bleeding pub, and all that time the landlord had been building himself a nice little nest egg for his retirement. She was glad then, glad that she had turned him over, nicking his hoard of cash.
It was even
Thankfully as the years progressed, he tried less and less. Until one last final attempt.
She fought him off as usual, but this time it was different; instead of anger he had broken down and cried, saying her rejection and hysterics made him feel like an animal. He was ruined, less than a man now. Assuming he’d become impotent, she hadn’t cared. After all, it was no more than he deserved. And anyway, it was a relief to settle down into a platonic relationship.
Now, shaking her head, she got off the bed, smoothing the covers automatically behind her. Walking slowly into the bathroom she stared at herself in the mirror, seeing her own pain-filled eyes staring back. Perhaps it was thinking about the past that caused it, she didn’t know, but the realisation of what she had done suddenly hit her, and her face stretched in horror.
My God! It was her fault that Harry had lost control with Sally. If only she hadn’t rejected him for all of their married life, if only she had tried to get help … Gazing at her reflection she was filled with shame and self-hatred. She deserved this – deserved this empty house and empty life.
Turning on the taps she filled the sink with water, then, snatching the nailbrush, she began to scrub her hands violently. They were dirty, so dirty; she had to get them clean.
Finally, exhausted, she looked with dispassion at her red, raw flesh, before her eyes scanned the bathroom. It was filthy too; she had to clean it, just look at the muck. She hurried downstairs and filled a bucket with hot, steaming water. Then, adding a liberal amount of soda, she bent down, grabbing a scrubbing brush and cloth from under the sink.
Chapter Twelve
I n Blackpool, Barbara and Ken were walking along the front. A cold easterly wind was blowing, snatching at her scarf, and she impatiently tightened the knot under her chin.
I hope this one’s better than the others we’ve seen, she thought, hooking her arm through Ken’s. According to the agent’s details the house sounded perfect. Six bedrooms, a large reception and dining room, with the bonus of a basement. A snip, he said, at eighteen hundred pounds. Why was it so cheap, she wondered, when all the other properties of this size were way beyond their budget, despite the treasure trove they had found.
She smiled, remembering their arrival in Blackpool. It had been pouring with rain and Ken was still hardly speaking to her. They had tramped the back streets, looking for an out-of-the-way bed and breakfast, their shoulders drooping wearily when they found that most were closed until the start of the summer season.
Eventually they had come across a seedy-looking house with a board declaring Vacancies in the window. The sour-faced landlady had begrudgingly booked them in, and they’d sunk onto the rickety bed gratefully, too tired to bother about the state of the grubby room.
It had been the cash box she’d found in the safe that changed everything. Ken had forced it open, gasping at the large rolls of notes that spilled onto the bed. A small book remained at the bottom and she smiled, remembering how Ken had pulled it out, eagerly flicking the pages.
‘The crafty old sod,’ he’d chuckled. ‘Look, he’s been on a right old fiddle.’
She hadn’t understood the neat rows of figures, until Ken had pointed out that the landlord had two other barmaids listed as working in the pub.
‘But there weren’t any other barmaids,’ she’d protested.
‘That’s just it. Don’t you see, Babs,’ he had cried excitedly, ‘he’s claiming for non-existent staff and copping their wages. Christ, looking at the amount of dosh here, he must ’ave been at it for years.’
Oh, she’d been furious. She had worked like a slave in that bleeding pub, and all that time the landlord had been building himself a nice little nest egg for his retirement. She was glad then, glad that she had turned him over, nicking his hoard of cash.
It was even
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