Episode 2

Previously...

Clara was starting to run out of steam and began shaking with fright from the audacity of what she had done. She looked straight ahead, desperately trying to control the quiver in her lip, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

Without a word Samuel started the car and slammed it into gear. The speedy drive home, with everyone hanging on for dear life, was a relief. By the time they arrived things appeared strangely normal again.

And now...

“Dad, can I have new shoes?” Beulah was the kind of girl that never knew when to stop.

“No.”

There was a silence in the little kitchen.

“Please?”

“What do you want new shoes for?”

“For going out.”

“Oh. For going out hey? Going out where?”

“With my friends.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. The movies. Parties.”

“That’s what I thought. No!”

He put a forkful of food in his mouth and chewed away loudly to waylay any further conversation.

“The ones I’ve got are for school….” But he just munched on right through her appeal.

“Have you done your homework?” he asked, wiping his mouth on a linen napkin.

“Yes.”

“Let me see.”

“Didn’t have any.”

“Let me see.”

“Didn’t have any.”

“Let me see.”

“I looked at it,” Clara jumped in, trying to avoid the inevitable head-on-collision. “It’s fine. Go to your room and get ready,” she said to Beulah.

“Where is she going?” he said looking at his wristwatch.

“She’s going to a sleepover with her friend.”

“No she’s not.”

“Just go and get ready,” Clara said. “It’s alright.” She turned to her husband. “I’ve already spoken to the other girl’s mother. It’s all arranged.”

“What about her schoolwork? She nearly failed last term. Last thing she should be doing is gallivanting around on a school night.”

Clara sighed. She really didn’t have the energy anymore for this kind of thing. It tired her no end.

“Just leave her. She’s at a difficult age. More than that, she’s growing up…trying out things.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know. Independence.”

“She can be as independent as she likes once she’s earning her own money, which, judging by her grades, is not going to be much.”

Joshua had long since stopped eating, head hanging over his plate, staring into his rice.

“Eat your food,” said his father. “I don’t work for nothing you know.”

Joshua picked up his fork and stirred his food around.

Samuel wasn’t a bad man. He was just old fashioned as the saying goes. He hadn’t always been a tyrant. At school he had discovered a hidden talent for acting, but as the years went by it seemed he was only allowed to play the role of the villain, and his whole family conspired to keep it that way. Funny how life can pigeon-hole you.

“Eat your food Joshua. Don’t play with it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. There’s too much waste in this house.”

“It doesn’t taste nice.”

“It tastes just fine. I’ve eaten mine.”

“It’s cold.”

“That’s because you didn’t eat it.”

“I don’t want any.”

“Well you’re not leaving this table until you’ve eaten. And if you cry I’m going to give you a clip around the ear.”

“Samuel…”

“No. He has to learn.”

“Has to learn what? That it’s good to have someone bully you into doing things you don’t want to.”

“A good hiding is the quickest way for a child to learn.”

“No it’s not. I hate your slap dash way of treating them...us.”

“Toughen them up.”

“Rubbish. Did you know it’s illegal to hit your child?”

“What you going to do? Report me to the authorities? Turn me in?”

“Don’t tempt me. Wouldn’t that be nice? You locked up in your own jail for child-abuse. Boy will you have a fine time with all the inmates you’ve been keeping in there. I hope you haven’t been too nasty to them. Bet they’d just love to see you on their side of the fence.”

“Nonsense,” said Samuel, but she could see she had given him pause for thought. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so quick with his hands in future.

“And look how your ‘toughening up’ is working. Look at him. All you’ve done is make him scared of you. How would you like it if someone was always on your case, hitting you all the time?”

“It’s what my mother did….and look at me…”

“Yes. Just look at you. I don’t want my boy to grow up like you, thank you.”

“How else am I going to make a man of him?”

“I don’t want you to make a ‘man’ of him. I want him to be a human being.”

“Crap. If he doesn’t toughen up they’ll eat him alive.”

“You’re the only one eating him alive. Leave my son alone.”

“He’ll turn into a bloody queer.”

“Oh. So that’s what you’re afraid of. Afraid people are going to say like father like son hey? Anyway, this world could do with a few more sissies.”

“Bloody idiotic nonsense.”

“Listen how you talk to me. Is this what we can expect of him? I think you’re a terrible role model.”

“Then why did you marry me?”

“Because I didn’t know you yet. I must say my mother warned me. Marry in haste, repent at leisure.”

“You mean you’re sorry you married me?

“How can I put this…….yes.”

Things seemed to be going to hell in a hurry. Clara took a deep breath and turned away. Life was a continual battle with Samuel. Today was particularly bad. She’s never been so outspoken against him and was surprised how far she got. The audacity of her attack left her a little bit shaken, but she was tired of not saying anything and letting him rule the roost. She carried the dirty plates through into the kitchen with shaky hands, being careful not to drop them. Where was she in all this? She couldn’t just stand by and watch him hammer her children? Like that picture by Goya…Saturn devouring his children. Alright, the painting is an analogy for war…but this is no less. A war between four people. The proletariat rebelling against the flint faced fascist dictator. He’d never given any hint of this side of his nature before they were married. Truth be told he never gave much of a hint of anything. Silent, broody, monosyllabic. Dear God she wouldn’t make that mistake again - if she ever got the chance. Intense just wasn’t enough.

She was clattering at the dishes in the sink when Beulah clip-clopped her way down the wooden stairs and walked into the dining room.

“You’re not going anywhere dressed like that, young lady,” said her father.

Beulah ignored him and went into the kitchen.

“Can I have some money please Mom?”

“Didn’t you hear me? You’re not going….”

“Yes, we all heard you,” shouted Clara with an exasperated edge to her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with the way she’s dressed. I used to dress just like…”

“She looks like a whore,” he said, coming into the kitchen.

“You should know,” shot back Beulah.

“What? What was that?”

“Nothing,” said Clara. Perhaps she should just step back and let the two of them kill each other. Beulah was as stubborn as him…her father’s daughter alright. She knew which of his buttons to press and how far she could go with him. She was as merciless with him as he was with her…never allowing her a moment of freedom or independence. ‘As ye sew, so shall ye reap.’ In his case he’d reaped the whirlwind. No peace of mind for him. Just daily aggravation until some or other blood vessel finally burst.

“Do I have a say in this house or what?” he said.

At that Clara nearly burst out laughing. She did give a little snort though.

“You think that’s funny?” he said.

“Yes actually. Because you’re the only one in this house that has any say.”

“Well then. Why does no-one listen to me? You, young lady, you go right up to your room and take that gunk off your face. And put on a dress that covers up your arse. Go!”

He made a lunge at her but she slipped past him.

“And where did you get money for that make-up?” he shouted after her. “Have you been stealing again?”

He was just about to follow her up the stairs to drive his point home when Clara interrupted him.

“Just leave her be. She has her period, so she’s very touchy. And she doesn’t dress any differently to her friends. They all…”

“I don’t care. She’s not going out of this house looking like a whore.”

“The more you tell her not to do it the more she’s going to. I know you feel…”

“You don’t know what the fuck I feel,” he said, and fell silent, as if he himself didn’t quite know how he felt.

“Excuse me,” she said, and brushed past him into the dining room where Joshua had vomited over the table.

“Oh God,” she said, going to his side. “Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.