dry spell coming on,’ he said. ‘It’s okay, Beth, I was only thinking of going to the pictures, or a meal together, not forcing you to be my sex slave or getting you to do my washing.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she said, laughing as she tried to hide her confusion at having her mind read. ‘Now, I’m starving, so how about going and getting something to eat? I’m paying.’
Later that evening, once she was in bed, Beth pondered on why she couldn’t be like other single women and feel optimistic about every eligible man she met. Roy was extremely eligible, nice-looking, tall, amusing – he had a good job, and she had enjoyed his company. He’d even been too gentlemanly to let her pay for the pizza. Why did she always have to be so wary?
But she knew the answer to that only too well.
She was frightened of intimacy. It wasn’t that she didn’t ever fancy anyone enough. There had been dozens of times when she’d got all the right signals, felt an electric current flowing between her and the man, even an overpowering desire to make love. But once she was in bed with him she kind of froze up.
Up until a few years ago, every time she met a new man, she really believed that this time it was going to be different. When it failed, she blamed the man for not being a good enough lover. He was too rough, coarse, quick, he wasn’t clean enough, or too clean. She was too drunk, or not drunk enough. She’d used any excuse rather than face the truth, which was that the fault had to lie within her. She couldn’t admit any of this to the man, so she put on an act, pretended everything was wonderful, and hoped against hope that the next time it would be.
She couldn’t bring herself to do that any more. It was better to remain celibate than go through the misery of pretence and the bitterness which came with it.
Self-help books, she’d read them all. They taught her what was to blame of course, but then she’d known that all along. Putting the blame in the right quarter didn’t solve the problem, however.
Beth loved her brother and sister, but every time she saw them together with their partners and children, she felt wounded. She could sense the joy they got from sex, it kind of oozed out of them. With each one of her sister’s and her sister-in-law’s pregnancies she’d felt a mixture of envy and disgust. She squirmed with embarrassment when they breast-fed their babies, it was all too animal-like for her to take.
So she had kept her distance. Her visits were short and infrequent, and she avoided occasions like Christmas which she’d found to be emotional mine-fields. Expensive presents took the place of the involvement she would have liked to have had with her nieces and nephews. She had deprived herself of their love and affection.
A tear trickled down her cheek as she lay there, unable to sleep. She knew others saw her as a woman who had everything, an absorbing career, plenty of money, beautiful clothes and a nice home. They couldn’t be blamed for assuming she had never wanted a husband and children.
And she would never admit to anyone that she would gladly give up everything she had for a man who could make her feel like a real woman.
Chapter six
Susan carried her food tray across the canteen, keeping her eyes down to avoid looking directly at any of the other prisoners. She had been here for only nine days, but it seemed more like nine months. Seeing two vacant seats at the end table, she made straight for it, but suddenly she tripped on something, and the tray fell from her hands as she tried to stop herself falling head-first on to the floor.
A roar of laughter burst out as the tray clattered to the floor, the dinner of cottage pie, cabbage and rhubarb tart and custard flung out in all directions. It looked like vomit against the green tiles.
Susan realized immediately that she had been tripped up purposely, and frightened by such malice, her first thought was to run and hide. But running
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she said, laughing as she tried to hide her confusion at having her mind read. ‘Now, I’m starving, so how about going and getting something to eat? I’m paying.’
Later that evening, once she was in bed, Beth pondered on why she couldn’t be like other single women and feel optimistic about every eligible man she met. Roy was extremely eligible, nice-looking, tall, amusing – he had a good job, and she had enjoyed his company. He’d even been too gentlemanly to let her pay for the pizza. Why did she always have to be so wary?
But she knew the answer to that only too well.
She was frightened of intimacy. It wasn’t that she didn’t ever fancy anyone enough. There had been dozens of times when she’d got all the right signals, felt an electric current flowing between her and the man, even an overpowering desire to make love. But once she was in bed with him she kind of froze up.
Up until a few years ago, every time she met a new man, she really believed that this time it was going to be different. When it failed, she blamed the man for not being a good enough lover. He was too rough, coarse, quick, he wasn’t clean enough, or too clean. She was too drunk, or not drunk enough. She’d used any excuse rather than face the truth, which was that the fault had to lie within her. She couldn’t admit any of this to the man, so she put on an act, pretended everything was wonderful, and hoped against hope that the next time it would be.
She couldn’t bring herself to do that any more. It was better to remain celibate than go through the misery of pretence and the bitterness which came with it.
Self-help books, she’d read them all. They taught her what was to blame of course, but then she’d known that all along. Putting the blame in the right quarter didn’t solve the problem, however.
Beth loved her brother and sister, but every time she saw them together with their partners and children, she felt wounded. She could sense the joy they got from sex, it kind of oozed out of them. With each one of her sister’s and her sister-in-law’s pregnancies she’d felt a mixture of envy and disgust. She squirmed with embarrassment when they breast-fed their babies, it was all too animal-like for her to take.
So she had kept her distance. Her visits were short and infrequent, and she avoided occasions like Christmas which she’d found to be emotional mine-fields. Expensive presents took the place of the involvement she would have liked to have had with her nieces and nephews. She had deprived herself of their love and affection.
A tear trickled down her cheek as she lay there, unable to sleep. She knew others saw her as a woman who had everything, an absorbing career, plenty of money, beautiful clothes and a nice home. They couldn’t be blamed for assuming she had never wanted a husband and children.
And she would never admit to anyone that she would gladly give up everything she had for a man who could make her feel like a real woman.
Chapter six
Susan carried her food tray across the canteen, keeping her eyes down to avoid looking directly at any of the other prisoners. She had been here for only nine days, but it seemed more like nine months. Seeing two vacant seats at the end table, she made straight for it, but suddenly she tripped on something, and the tray fell from her hands as she tried to stop herself falling head-first on to the floor.
A roar of laughter burst out as the tray clattered to the floor, the dinner of cottage pie, cabbage and rhubarb tart and custard flung out in all directions. It looked like vomit against the green tiles.
Susan realized immediately that she had been tripped up purposely, and frightened by such malice, her first thought was to run and hide. But running
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