Margaret Davies had just pulled on her nightgown and was plaiting her hair when the telephone shrilled. The harsh ring shattered the flat’s quiet, making her start. The clock showed half past nine.
“Hello?” Silence answered. “Hello, who’s this?”
“Mum?” The voice was faint, strained, as if afraid of being overheard.
“Elaine? What’s wrong? You know I hate late calls!” Margaret sat heavily on the bed, gripping the receiver. “Are you alright?”
“Yes… I mean no… Mum, can I come over? Right now?”
Something in her daughter’s tone clenched Margaret’s heart. Elaine never asked for help, always handled things herself, proud of her independence.
“Of course, come. What’s happened?”
“I’ll explain later. I’m leaving now.”
The dial tone hummed. Margaret stood motionless with the phone, then placed it down and headed to switch the kettle on. Elaine lived across town, a good forty minutes by bus if traffic was kind. An hour, then, until she’d see her.
She fetched the special china cups kept for guests, sliced some lemon, arranged biscuits on a plate. Her hands trembled slightly – a nagging dread wouldn’t lift.
Elaine arrived faster than expected. Margaret opened the door to find her daughter on the step, eyes red-raw and hair askew. A small suitcase stood beside her.
“Oh, my dear girl…” Margaret pulled Elaine close, feeling her shudder. “Come in, quick. Tea’s nearly ready.”
They sat at the kitchen table. Elaine sipped her tea in silence, muffling occasional sobs. Margaret waited, biting back questions. Her daughter would speak when ready.
“He hits me, Mum,” Elaine breathed so softly Margaret almost missed it. “Not the first time.”
Margaret carefully set her cup down, cold spreading through her chest. “He… hits you? Simon? What are you talking about?”
“D’you think I’m lying?” Elaine jerked her head up. Beneath her eye bloomed a bruise poorly masked with makeup. “See for yourself!”
“Good heavens…” Margaret reached out, but Elaine flinched away.
“Don’t pity me! It’s my fault. I provoked him. Thought marriage might change him, calm him down… I was stupid, Mum, stupid!”
“Why didn’t you tell me before? We could have…”
“And what would you do?” Elaine gave a bitter laugh. “Urged me to stick it out, save it for the children. You always said marriage is for life, one shot only.”
Margaret looked down. It was true. She’d put up with Elaine’s father for forty years, it hadn’t been easy. He had his drinking bouts, his rudeness, his indifference. She’d believed it was her lot.
“Where are the children?”
“At his mum’s. Told them I was visiting Gran.” Elaine wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Couldn’t let them see me like this. Maisie’s only seven, and Paul… he senses things aren’t right. Yesterday he asked why Daddy shouts at Mummy.”
“What did you say?”
“That Daddy’s tired from work.” Elaine clenched her fists. “Learned to lie to my kids. Brilliant, eh?”
Margaret stood, went to the window. Rain spattered outside, street lights casting yellow puddles on the pavement. How many times had *she* stood there when her husband stayed out or stumbled home drunk and mean? How many times had she thought of leaving, but stayed? For her daughter, she’d thought then.
“Where is he now?”
“Home. Fast asleep. Drank himself senseless.” Elaine took a shaky breath. “Mum, no more. I won’t let my kids grow up in that fear. Remember how scared I was when Dad came home drunk? Hid in the wardrobe praying he wouldn’t yell.”
“Your father never raised a hand to us!”
“No, he just screamed the place down till the neighbours banged the wall. And you forgave him, put up with it. I thought that’s how it *was*, all blokes like that.” Elaine stared at Margaret. “I won’t have Maisie growing up thinking it’s okay to let a man degrade you.”
Margaret returned to the table, sitting opposite her daughter.
“But he’s not always bad. Remember how good things were early on? He does love you…”
“Mum!” Elaine slammed her fist on the wood. “This isn’t *love*! A man who hits a woman doesn’t love her! Never! Not ever!”
“Maybe… maybe you provoked him?”
“*I* provoked him?” Elaine stood, pacing the small kitchen. “Know why he blew his top tonight? I asked him not to smoke in Maisie’s room. She coughs at night, doctor thinks it might be asthma starting. He snaps: ‘Don’t tell me where to smoke in my own house!’ Then whack.”
“Couldn’t you have you handled it softer…?”
“Mum, hear yourself!” Elaine stopped, glaring. “You’re making excuses for the man hitting your daughter!”
Margaret was stunned. She wasn’t excusing, just trying to understand. Her whole life she’d believed keeping the peace mattered above all. The man works, gets tired, needs tranquillity at home. The woman provides it, yields, doesn’t argue.
“I’m not excusing. But… maybe give it one more go? Talk properly?”
“I tried! After the first shove, we sat down, calm as you like. Told him how it hurt inside and out. He apologised, swore never again. Brought flowers, was an angel for a week. Then… it started over.”
Elaine returned to the table, picked up a framed photograph from the windowsill. Her and Simon on their wedding day – young, happy, in love.
“Mum, remember what people said when we moved in? What a good bloke, hard worker, didn’t drink much, decent job. Everyone thought I’d struck gold.”
“I remember. Still do. Maybe he’s got problems? At work?”
“Everyone’s got problems!” Elaine slammed the photo down. “My job’s stressful too, boss is a nightmare, wages late. Doesn’t make me hit Simon or the kids!”
“The children… what about them? They love their dad.”
“They love him. Worst part.” Elaine covered her face. “Yesterday, Paul asked, ‘Mummy, does Daddy punish you like me when you’re naughty?’ Get it? He thinks it’s *normal*!”
Margaret felt something shift inside. She remembered that fear in her daughter’s young eyes when her husband came home angry. Remembered Elaine hiding behind her, flinching at sudden slams.
“Where will you go? With kids, no job… house is in his name.”
“Find work. Rent a room. I’ll manage.” Elaine squared her shoulders. “Kids’ safety matters most.”
“What if he takes the children?”
“Attacks his wife, he can’t control himself. What sort of father would that make?” Elaine went to the window. “Know what I see? When a man hits a woman, he stops being a man. He’s just… something broken that can’t solve things properly.”
“Elaine, love, are you sure? Maybe a holiday? Get away… then try again?”
Her daughter turned, and Margaret saw something new in her eyes – a fierce resolve.
“Mum, I know you mean well. But understand this: Starting over only works if there’s something *to* start. All we have now is fear, lies, and putting up
Mary watched Emma’s sleeping face in the dim light, her own heart aching yet swelling with a fierce, protective determination she hadn’t felt in decades. Tomorrow they would fetch the children, and finally breathe the first breath of freedom.
