Bab 2: Chapter 2
“Very well, Glynnis.” But it took him a moment to rein in his obvious irritation. “You’ll rue this day, James. By the lord Harry, you’ll rue this day!”
Father turned on his heel and stalked out of the drawing room. Mother studied us pensively for a moment, and then followed him.
* * * *
Father was correct. Oh, not about ruing the handful of weeks I had with Barbara, but that we were much too young.
It was difficult being a husband, and I came to realize that once I started University it would be even more difficult.
We took a small bedsit in Oxford, and a problem—a very minor one!—arose. Barbara had never had to cook or keep house or manage money. Before very long, I began looking for a job that would supplement the monies that Uncle Chas had left me.
The job situation after the war was not promising—men far more skilled than I were desperate for any kind of employment—but finally I found a position working in the bus depot, sweeping the floors.
As for Barbara, even if she had any marketable skills, I didn’t want my wife to work, and so she remained at home.
The evening before our third anniversary—we’d been married three weeks—we had a blow-out of a row. I’d found a silver bracelet with tinkling bells with which I would have liked to surprise her, but even though it wasn’t very costly, I could not afford to buy it for her.
Added to that was that I was tired and ravenous and there was no dinner on the table, and things quickly escalated.
“I’m bored, James. You don’t take me dancing or to the movies, and we don’t have enough money for me to go shopping. And why is there still rationing?” She pouted, an expression only a few weeks earlier I’d found charming.
Because for the first time in my life I didn’t have the wherewithal at my fingertips, I snapped, “Perhaps because we’re still paying your government back for funding the war? Look, Barbara. If we don’t have the money to go out in the evening, how do you expect us to have the money for you to buy fripperies? The money Uncle Chas left me barely covers the rent on this dreadful flat, and we’re fortunate the job I’ve got provides enough to feed us! What would you have me to do?”
“Go ask your father—”
“And give him the satisfaction of knowing I can’t care for my wife without his help? I won’t!” I didn’t even cringe at how childish that sounded.
“Then I’ll wire Daddy to send us some things.”
“No,” I said stonily. If I wouldn’t accept help from my own father, what made her think I’d accept help from hers?
Barbara, however, appeared completely oblivious, as she wailed, “Oh, no, I can’t! He doesn’t even know we got married.”
“Barbara! You told me—”
“Mrs Parks thought it would be best to wait a while. Daddy would have said no.” Her eyes welled up with tears, looking like rain-drenched violets, and my heart melted. “I wanted to be married to you, James. Didn’t you want to be married to me?”
“Of course I did, darling! Please don’t cry!” My ire melted as well, and I took her in my arms. As usual when we touched each other, everything else fell by the wayside, and we spent the night having a glorious time making it up to each other.
And the next day, after receiving my pay packet, I went looking for flowers for my wife.
My wife. I did like the ring of that.
And since I was slightly more familiar with Oxford than Barbara, I went shopping for something for our evening meal as well. While our bedsitter had no kitchen, I’d managed to smuggle up a gas ring.
A Rolls Royce was idling a couple of doors down, and I regarded it thoughtfully for a moment. It was decidedly out of place, but when I approached to ask the driver if I could be of any assistance, he gave me a bored stare, a flat “No,” and rolled up the window.
Odd. But my wife was waiting for me in our bedsitter, and I shrugged, let myself into the building, and climbed to the second floor.
I unlocked our door and called, “All right, darling, I’ve got the makings for bangers and mash. Time to flip a coin to see who gets to burn them tonight.”
“James…”
Our bedsitter was so tiny it only took a step or two to bring me to the room from which her voice came. I stood in the doorway, ignoring the shabby furniture that had come with the flat.
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