Street Kid Fights On: She thought the nightmare was over. Judy Westwater

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       Chapter Six

      Roger was pleased about the baby, or at least I thought he was – he didn’t say much. But for that matter, neither did I. I was quietly ecstatic. The pregnancy didn’t stop him constantly demeaning me, of course, but now we had a secret together. In the first weeks we didn’t tell a soul.

      One Sunday we went to his parents’ house for lunch. It was the usual overwhelming Lethbridge onslaught, though now we were married Roger openly criticized and mocked me in front of his family and sometimes they joined in.

      ‘You look a state,’ he picked on my appearance. ‘Look at you in that old dress. What a sight!’

      I was mortified. I had never cared much about clothes and I knew I didn’t turn myself out smartly like Roger’s pretty sisters. Of course, now that he controlled the budget I was never allowed any money to buy new clothes but I didn’t mention that. Instead I hung my head and stayed completely silent.

      Roger’s mother had come to openly dislike me by this time. It was a particular bugbear for her that I didn’t have any family.

      ‘Judy must have done something really awful in the past,’ Roger said, ‘because she won’t talk about it.’

      Mrs Lethbridge eyed me up and down and I knew she was disappointed with her son’s choice of wife. I wasn’t what she’d hoped for. I dreaded going over there, even though it was the only time that I left Compass Street to do something that should have been sociable.

      That Sunday I felt sick and I couldn’t finish my meal.

      ‘Is my food not good enough for you?’ Mrs Lethbridge snapped.

      I didn’t want to tell her that I was suffering from morning sickness and Roger didn’t step in to defend me, so I just shook my head silently and looked at my lap.

      ‘See how useless you are,’ Roger said on the way home on the bus. ‘Can’t take you anywhere. Keep your bloody eyes to the floor, I don’t want you looking out.’

      In his paranoia he had convinced himself that if I looked up, and my eyes caught a man inside or outside the bus, I was flirting with him. Often I was punished for that when we got home and protesting my innocence only made the screaming and the beating worse. He’d slap me, punch me or hit me with the poker or any other implement that came to hand, fuelled by a rage that I was a whore who was lying and cheating and couldn’t be trusted. Looking back, I see now that his jealousy was pathological, almost verging on clinical insanity. That’s the only explanation I can think of. But back then, I still didn’t know how far from normal married life mine was.

      Being pregnant changed things for me. It gave me a sense of purpose and I was excited about the future despite everything. I counted the months until I was due to give birth and planned my first trip to the doctor for when I was three or four months gone. Every day I felt the subtle changes in my body and I treasured those feelings, keeping them to myself. Each time I sensed something different I convinced myself that after the birth, things would surely change.

      Much to Roger’s amusement, I scrubbed the small bedroom upstairs. We might not have much, but at least it would be clean and tidy. Roger’s granddad, who lived over the road, gave us several half tins of paint, rolls of odd wallpaper, and bits and pieces of D.I.Y. equipment so I set to painting and decorating the house. From the moment I knew that I was pregnant, it was very important that I did everything to be a wonderful mother. Back in South Africa, during the very worst times – when I was beaten senseless by Dad the night he recaptured me after my escape to the circus; or staring at my bloodied, puffed-up face in a station toilet mirror after being raped in a back alley – I got myself through by imagining how I would bring up my children if I was ever lucky enough to have any. I had so much love to give and I was just aching for someone to give it to.

      Roger didn’t change, though. He squirreled away every penny he earned, drank a great deal and gambled what was left on the slot machines. He did give me a housekeeping allowance but it was tiny and out of that I had to buy the expensive food that he liked – bacon and eggs and meat. I couldn’t afford that kind of thing for myself as well, and as a consequence we ate different meals. For myself I made soup out of a few vegetables and a bone that the butcher would either give me or sell for a penny or two. A lot of the time I was hungry and during the pregnancy I found myself craving meat and other luxuries, but there was no way I could afford them.

      One night, a few weeks into the pregnancy, I felt very tired. Roger had gone to the pub that evening with his uncle and I wasn’t sure when he might be back. Roger’s extended family was huge and many of them lived quite close by. It meant he was out of the house quite a bit in the evenings and that was fine by me.

      I had to get some sleep, so I made some food and left it on the kitchen table for when he got in. Then I went upstairs and fell asleep immediately. I had been painting all day and the pregnancy was taking it out of me. I was exhausted.

      A few hours later I woke up with a jolt. Roger was shaking me so hard that the bed was moving beneath me. I jerked into consciousness and immediately my heart pounded with terror. The room was completely dark and I couldn’t see anything. Roger was shouting. His breath stank of beer and he was furious.

      ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ he screamed. ‘I come home, my dinner’s cold and you’re in bed, you lazy bitch.’

      He hauled me out from under the covers as I tried to find my footing and then dragged me behind him across the wooden floor. My mind was racing – it was always better to just let Roger rage. Any resistance was futile and only made things worse. Still, it was dark and I was terrified. I knew that he was usually even more violent than normal when he’d been drinking.

      ‘Christ,’ he shouted. ‘What the hell am I going to do with you?’

      Still sleepy, I was completely disorientated as he pushed me ahead of him into the black hallway and gave me a shove in the direction of the stairs. In the dark I stumbled and lost my balance, falling awkwardly onto the stairs and tumbling for several feet until I hit the floor of the hallway below. It happened so quickly that I was confused and all the time Roger was screaming: ‘You been out screwing other men? That’s why you’re tired, isn’t it?’

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