Love Changes Everything Read Free Page B

facing up to Sam. She knew she ought to be the one who put him in his place, not leave it to Trixie. She sometimes wondered what would happen when Trixie left home but consoled herself that as Trixie was only fourteen that was years away.
    Ever since the day war had broken out in 1914 and Sam had gone into the army he’d been a changed character; so much so that she was sometimes afraid of him, especially when he’d been out drinking.
    She’d never forget the first time he’d come home on leave; he’d been like a stranger he’d been so hard and brusque. When she’d told him why they’d been turned out of their little home he’d told her she should have stood up to the boss at the abattoir and refused to move out.
    He became even angrier when she told him that she was pregnant.
    She hadn’t seen him again till he’d been demobbed and then when he came home and discovered that the new baby was retarded he’d blamed her. He’d been unable to accept Cilla’s condition; the situation had incensed him and turned him into a complete bully.
    He’d always liked his beer, but in the early days of their marriage it had made him merry. These days it made him moody and aggressive and she had plenty of bruises to prove it. Come to that, so had Trixie, although mercifully in her case it was usually nothing more serious than a cuff across her head with the back of his hand or a slap across her face.
    This was the only time that Maggie was thankful that he never touched little Cilla no matter how boozed up he might be. Sometimes she wished he would take some notice of her, sit her on his knee or even take her by the hand and help her walk down the road. Instead he ignored her completely, as if she didn’t exist.
    As she expected Maggie found that Cilla was still in her cot and that there was a sheet fastened over the four corners of it to prevent her from climbing out. Cilla was scarlet in the face from screaming, her cheeks streaked with tears and her bedding was in a tangled heap as she’d struggled to get free.
    Maggie picked her up and hugged her, crooning to her to try and calm her. Then, holding Cilla in one arm and hoping that her gulping sobs would subside, she prepared some breakfast for her. She warmed up some milk and poured it on to a basin of broken-up scraps of bread sprinkled with sugar to make a dish of pobs, knowing it was Cilla’s favourite.
    As she sat spoon-feeding Cilla she looked round the shabby room in despair. How had she been reduced to living like this? she wondered dejectedly. Not for the first time she felt full of guilt; suspecting that perhaps Sam was right and that it was partly her own fault because she always accepted whatever fate dished out instead of fighting back.
    Even though she’d vowed that she would continue to practise her faith after she was married, Sam had soon talked her out of it. He’d derided her for getting up to go to early morning Mass, especially on a cold winter morning when she could stay cuddled up to him in a nice warm bed.
    She’d been an only child, brought up in a respectable area in Anfield, in a comfortable furnished house where everything shone from all the polishing and cleaning her mother did. She was so house-proud that they even had to take their shoes off as they came in the door and the only time they used the front door was if visitors came.
    Her mother had a strict routine, and each day was allocated for special jobs: spring cleaning was a momentous event and every carpet and rug was taken up, hung over the clothes line and beaten; the heavy winter curtains were taken down before Easter and crisp summer ones hung in their place; the antimacassars that protected the arms and backs of the plush green armchairs and sofa were taken off and replaced by linen ones.
    Her parents had been exacting but she’d never gone short of anything. They’d lived an orderly life; regular meal times