The walls were cluttered with gaudy posters depicting Tarzan-like males with hairy chests and bulging muscles, their throats adorned with gold necklaces which matched the array of bracelets on their wrists; the floor was littered with discarded clothes—skirts and blouses, pants and tights and bras. On the dressing table a profusion of bottles and jars, mostly untopped, told of extravagant spending at the cosmetics counter of the town's one large department store. Screwed-up tissues and balls of cotton wool, rollers, pins and a string of beads—these were on a low couch, and sitting on top of a cushion was a wide-brimmed sun hat trimmed with bright-coloured straw roses. On the unmade bed was a pair of shoes, on the floor by the bedside cabinet a lacy nightdress lay just as its owner had stepped out of it in her hurry to get to the office where she worked, while on the cabinet itself a sexy magazine was opened at a page that made Sally close her eyes and turn away.
The adjoining bedroom was not quite so bad—there were no clothes on the floor but the walls were covered with seductive nudes in every kind of pose. The bed was unmade, and on the cabinet were two empty beer cans and a glass. The next room was very much like the first but instead of posters there was an array of zombie-like dolls, leering and hairy, viciously ugly.
Five hours later, nerves screeching, Sally, having done the bedrooms but left her own, was taking clothes out of the tub, the washing machine having gone wrong the previous week and Ted not having repaired it yet. Perspiration was pouring from Sally's forehead; her clothes were sticking to her. It was early September and it had been an exceptional summer with temperatures up in the eighties day after day. At least there was no problem drying the washing, thought Sally as she filled the basket, then carried it out to the garden. She had almost finished filling the three long lines when her neighbour put her head over the fence and said, 'There's a bit of lunch for you here, love. Leave that blasted washing and relax for an hour or so.'
'I…' Sally frowned in vexation, then felt angry at her ingratitude. Mrs. Wentworth always meant well, but the meals she offered took time to eat, precious time when Sally could have been more usefully employed. 'Thank you so much,' she said, dropping a couple of pegs into the empty basket. 'It's awfully good of you to bother.'
'Well, I know darned well you'd not get yourself anything. Come quickly, won't you? It's chips and they soon lose their crispness.'
Sally went into the house, looked at herself in the cracked mirror over the sink and gritted her teeth. She was coming to the end! She was beginning to hate the family she had once loved. What a ghastly sight she was! Twenty-five and looked forty! Her life was finished; she was on the shelf, and all because she had willingly taken over when her parents were killed in a railway accident five years ago. She'd had a super post with an excellent salary and prospects of promotion, but Jean and Sue, aged twelve and eleven respectively, had been at school, while Ted, at sixteen, had just started work in the office of the local newspaper. There seemed no alternative than for her to leave work and look after the three younger children. She felt scared of the responsibility at first but had accepted it bravely. Her own loss financially she thought nothing of at the time, since its importance faded beside the greater needs of her family. But it meant she had very little to spend on herself, for her parents had left little in the way of actual cash and, therefore, Sally was forced to manage on her father's pension and the supplements allowed her by the State. Ted's money was of little value because he needed most of it to buy clothes—or so he said. Sally had never known how much he earned.
There had followed five years of drudgery, with the lack of appreciation being accepted at first, because the children were so young, especially the two girls, but as they grew older Sally did expect some sort of appreciation for her sacrifice, and she expected it in the way of help in the house, but neither of the girls showed any inclination to help in any way at all. On the contrary, they made more and more work the older they became. Sally had continued to make excuses and hope for an improvement, but of late she had found herself straining at the bonds as, with every month that passed, she was becoming conscious of the fact that her life was being totally sacrificed for her family—two flighty, irresponsible girls and a boy who, though willing to do certain running repairs in the house, more often than not did them in his own slow time. It had not troubled him that the washing machine being out of action would mean even further drudgery for his sister.
Mrs. Wentworth made no attempt to hide her opinion of the girls and their brother. An idle, slothful lot, she called them, and would waive Sally's protests with an angry gesture and a swear word to strengthen it.
'Ah, there you are!' was her smiling welcome when Sally, having washed her face and brushed her hair, entered by the back door and sat down in her usual place at the well-scrubbed kitchen table. The plate of sausage and chips was produced instantly and Sally tucked in, chatting to her neighbour who was also eating sausage and chips, though her portion was much smaller than Sally's. Sally needed feeding up, she was always telling her. She was far too thin, and would do well to look after herself a bit more and let those idle layabouts do for themselves. The Lord knew, they were certainly capable enough!
'You're paler than ever,' she said critically as she looked at her guest across the table. 'You'll have a breakdown—' A warning finger was wagged almost under Sally's nose. 'Then what'll you do? If you suppose any of those in there will look after you, then you're mistaken! They're the most selfish lot that ever existed!'
'Mrs. Wentworth,' broke in Sally protestingly, 'please don't go on about my family. They were brought up strictly enough when our parents were alive, and I suppose I wasn't strict enough at first, and so they've turned out like this. Sometimes I blame myself.'
'I've no patience with you,' snapped Mrs. Wentworth, her good-humoured face red with anger. 'You're getting older, and this could go on for years! Those girls have more sense than to get married, if that's what you're waiting for! They're onto a good thing, paying scarcely anything for their keep and squandering the rest of what they earn. Stop it now, Sally, before it's too late. They're all old enough to take care of themselves so you can go with an easy mind. Clear out altogether! Get a job and a flat and look after yourself for a change. Buy some pretty clothes and find yourself a nice young man.'
Sally listened patiently; she had heard it all so many times before. But today it sounded different; it was sinking in, making its mark. She said, when Mrs. Wentworth had stopped speaking, 'I don't think any young man would even look at me. I feel old and—and plain.'
'You plain! You're beautiful, Sally! A darned sight more beautiful than those two!' She paused and Sally was aware she was looking critically at every feature, at her hair, her throat and shoulders, her high firm breasts.
'I ought to try and find time to do something to myself,' she said.
'I admit your hair's dull, dear. But it was once really nice. That colour—I wish I had it, lovely chestnut with golden lights. And it used to curl up at the ends.'
'It still does when I wash it. But then the dampness in the kitchen, and the grease from the cooking…' She trailed off and concentrated on her lunch again.
'Your skin's perfect, and those eyes—big and hazel—I think that's the colour, isn't it?'
Sally had to smile. 'Yes, they're hazel,' she said.
'And you've a kissable mouth, my love—'
'Please,' objected Sally, 'that's enough. You make me sound like a film star when in fact I feel like an aged washerwoman.'
'Silly child! I shall lay into that lot before I've finished!'
'No, I'd not like you to,' said Sally urgently. The one thing she was afraid of was that her neighbour would bounce into her house and tell her family exactly what she thought about them. It would not help; it would cause friction and that would be just about the end as far as Sally was concerned. Unpleasantness she had never been able to endure. Life was bad enough without that.
***
The dinner was not quite ready when Jean arrived home and Sally asked her to bring in the washing while she was waiting.
'Haven't time! I'm meeting Jack and we're going dancing. I'll have to get ready before dinner, then, and that's a bit of a nuisance because I'm wearing a long dress. Why didn't you start a bit earlier, Sal?' Jean was at the kitchen door, a bright young teenager in denims and shirt, bit earrings and a heavy brass bangle on her wrist. She had been smoking on the bus; Sally could smell it on her clothes. So much waste of money, bitterness welled up in Sally but she crushed it instantly. Things might improve one day. And whatever Mrs Wentworth said, she felt sure that both her sisters would marry young.
'Go and get ready,' she said, turning to the stove to stick a fork in the carrots. 'Is Ted going out tonight, do you know?' she added as Jean turned to go.
'Yes. He's got a new girl friend. She's smashing. I'd not mind having her for a sister-in-law!'
Sue came in next, her auburn hair a mop of tight curls, her bright red lips moving rhythmically as she chewed a piece of apple she was eating.
'Hello, Sis! Good smell and am I hungry! Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mary and Bill and two more are coming for eats and drinks later. Do us some sandwiches and some of those lovely scones you make. And we'd like some cheese and celery.'
'Perhaps you will do that, then,' suggested Sally. 'I'm afraid I have a big pile of ironing to do this evening. I took a long time over the washing today, because the machine isn't working. I hoped that Ted would do it tonight—' She broke off. Her sister had disappeared, taken the huff, no doubt, because she had been asked to do her own preparation for her guests.
Ted's entry was as breezy as usual, a broad grin on his handsome face. His fair hair was long, untidy, his jeans were frayed and not too clean. Sally often wondered what was wrong with employers these days, to tolerate such slovenliness in the way their employees dressed.
'I need the washing machine repaired,' she began. 'It's urgent, Ted—'
'Can't be done tonight, or tomorrow, either. I'm out both nights.'
'In that case,' said Sally, surprising herself more than him, 'you had better take your dirty clothes to the launderette and do them yourself. It's not possible for me to wash every day unless I have the machine. There's a launderette just round the corner from where you work. You can take your bedding as well, if you don't mind.' Without looking at him she bent to open the oven door. The delicious smell of steak cooking in a casserole pervaded the kitchen. Sally wiped the perspiration from her face with the ovencloth and straightened up to try the carrots again. 'Did you hear what I said?' she asked, still without looking at him. She knew from previous experience that her suggestion would have left him almost dazed with disbelief; his expression would be wide-eyed, his mouth agape.
'I did—but—damn it, Sal, you don't really expect me to wash my own clothes!'
'I've seen men in the launderette.'
'I couldn't—I mean—'
'Then get the machine repaired,' she broke in tautly. And she added after a pause, 'Don't try me too far, Ted. I'm at the end of my tether!'
'Oh, for heaven's sake don't start that again!' It was Sue's petulant voice and Ted turned. 'Every so often you start this nagging,' Sue complained. 'I don't know what all the grumbling's about. You're here at home all day. If it were me, I'd have everything done by lunchtime and have the afternoons to myself. You're a bad manager, Sally!'
'Then perhaps you would like to change places with me,' Sally suggested. Her nerves were leaping; she wanted to scream, to throw her arms about, to hit somebody. The effort at control was as nerve-racking as the feeling itself. She felt she might collapse altogether if she went on like this. Mrs. Wentworth was forever predicting a nervous breakdown.
'Don't be crazy,' snapped Sue. 'I love my job and wouldn't give it up for anything. Are you going to do those sandwiches and scones?'
'If you will take over the ironing, yes.' Sally was putting out plates she had warmed in the oven drawer. 'There are three lines of it out there. You can bring it in for me while I'm putting the dinner out.'
'I can't reach the lines.'
'You're as tall as I.'
'Oh, Lord!' exclaimed Ted, exasperated, 'I'll bring the damned stuff in!'
'Are you doing the ironing?' asked Sally, straining the carrots.
'I'm having friends. Sally, what gets into you at times?' Sue drew an impatient breath. 'I can't bear people who try to make martyrs of themselves.'
'You do realise that my life is going. When am I supposed to have some enjoyment? How am I to find a boyfriend and get married when—'
'Married—you! Oh, Sal, that is too funny! Why, you've been on the shelf for years! Twenty-five—I could shudder at the very thought of it. You're old, Sal, so forget the idea of marriage.' She was laughing when her sister came down, dressed in a blouse and long skirt of dishcloth material that left little to the imagination. Sally looked at her in disgust and wondered where she had gone wrong.
'What's funny?' Jean wanted to know, watching Sally fill the plates with meat and vegetables.
'Sally wants to get married—at her age!'
'You—haven't met anyone?' Jean sounded more than perturbed; she sounded scared.
'I might have,' replied Sally because she wanted to scare her even more.
'You—!' It was Sue who broke the small silence which followed Sally's words. 'No—impossible!'
'What would we do if you got married?' Jean's voice had a high-pitched tone. 'How would we manage?'
'The way other people do who haven't a sister who's fool enough to make a drudge of herself!'
'She's in one of her moods again,' from Ted, who had come in with a basketful of dry washing. 'It'll pass,' he added carelessly as he placed the basket on a chair and went out to take more washing from the lines.
'You weren't serious?' Jean had come right into the kitchen and was standing by the table on which the plates were placed in a row. Sally was scooping gravy from the casserole and spreading it over the meat. 'You'd never do a trick like that to us? You'd not get married and leave us?'
Sally looked at her, the ladle idle in her hand. 'I wonder if any of you realise just how selfish you are,' she said, a quiver in her voice because her nerves were still playing her up. 'Every year you all have at least one holiday and last year you had two. I haven't had one for five years. I need one! Doesn't that ever occur to any of you?'
'You've no money for holidays,' said Sue.
Sally looked at her pityingly and said, 'Where's your intelligence, Sue? Why haven't I any money?'
'Because you don't earn any,' was Jean's swift reply.
'My work here's worth nothing, then?'
'Well, you do get something, Sally. You get your keep and if you're careful, I expect you make a bit on the housekeeping.'
Sally's fingers clenched round the ladle. How she kept from hitting Jean with it she did not know. All she did know was that her nerves were more erratic than at any other time before. She knew she would scream unless she got away within the next few minutes.
'So I get my keep, do I. Thanks, Jean!' The words were almost spat out and her sisters stared disbelievingly at her. Never had they heard Sally speak like that before! 'And if I'm careful I might get something from the housekeeping? It might interest you to know, Jean, that I have been selling what bit of jewellery I had—a bracelet Mum and Dad gave me on my eighteenth birthday. My watch went a fortnight ago.' She turned away, to continue with the dinner. 'You can each carry your own in,' she said. 'I'm not in the mood for playing waitress tonight.'
'Still at it?' Ted, with an armful of washing, stood by the door, a frown on his face. 'Cut it out, Sis. We've been working all day. We don't want to come in to this!'
Sally stared, aware that the room was beginning to spin. The plates on the table moved before her eyes. She caught at a nearby chair, seizing the back as her body began to sway.
'I—I'm—ill—' Her lips were dry, her whole body quivering with an emotion she could not understand and of which she was afraid. What was the matter with her? 'I think I had better go to bed—' And then it was that she let out a piercing scream and began flailing the air with her arms. 'You've been working all day, have you?' She burst into hysterical laughter while they all stared, looking helpless. 'Work! Poor things! And you don't want to come home to this! Why do you come home, then? Work!' she screamed, picking up the ladle and throwing it at her brother. 'And what do you suppose I've been doing? Lying in bed with a book?'
'Stop it,' shouted Ted, having neatly caught the gravy ladle. 'You're going mad, girl! Control yourself!'
'She's really ill,' whispered Jean, backing away from her. 'She's having a fit.'
'So I'm mad now, am I?' Without waiting for an answer she raced past them all and up the stairs to her room. Locking the door, she leant against it, panting heavily, a hand pressed to the wild throbbing of her heart. What had she done, losing control like that? She had made an exhibition of herself and they thought she was mad, was having a fit.
She lay down, forcing herself to be calm, but her nerves felt shattered. She could not stay in, but if she went out where could she go? She could walk… walk… into the friendly twilight where peace was….
She did not remember getting ready, nor even leaving the house. No one came after her. Perhaps they hadn't heard her leave. She wandered on and on for over an hour, into the country lane which led eventually away from the built-up area and on to a road leading to the golf course. It was quiet on the golf course at this time. The golfers seemed to finish playing by about seven at the latest. The road too was quiet but she stopped, looking both ways. Her mind was wandering again, dwelling on the terrible scene when she had made such a complete fool of herself. What were they thinking of her? She had never liked bother, had grumbled sometimes, yes, but it had blown over immediately. Mrs. Wentworth had often said that Sally's nerves would snap one day and "that lot in there will be frightened out of their wits."
Well, they weren't frightened, just disgusted that their usually placid sister could lose control like that.
Suddenly there was a screeching of brakes. Sally felt the blinding impact of something hard against her body, heard a woman scream… and drifted into oblivion.
