KOL Good Old Morals 16.03

“Is there anything else you need before I head out love?” Arnie asked her, leaning down to her on the sofa.
 
Joan smiled back at his worried face. She’d been marrried to Arnold Bowen for 38 years and she’d walked out with him for two before that, until her father had said they’d better hurry up and make some decisions. There’d be no pulling the wool over her eyes – she knew when Arnie was worried and when he wasn’t. But then, he’d been looking drawn lately, been quieter than normal. She figured it was just all the business with Paul. She hoped he didn’t resent her for what was happening with Paul.
 
“No love, I’ll be fine thank you,” she replied, forcing a smile back at him. “You know what they said, it wasn’t serious – just panic. Nothing to worry about.”
 
“Yes, and I also know you,” Arnie grinned back, “and I also know they said you needed to rest, so make sure you’ll be doing it, or you’ll have me to deal with when I get home.”
 
Joan laughed as he left and she heard the back door close. He was a dear man, not romantic in any way, didn’t treat her much like a woman, but he surely loved her and in times like these, she knew she could count on him. She worried about him too, out there on the marshes with the sheep, but some one had to do it and at least Bruno would check up on him.
 
Her mind wandered, thinking of Bruno and his marrying at 59 years old. Cheeky devil, she mused, wandered if his wedding night would be fireworks or whether he’d be taking things easy. Wandered for that matter if Caroline was hot stuff, but then she must have been to keep Bruno interested all that time.
 
She picked up one of the books that Arnie had thoughtfully left for her and tried to read. She wasn’t much a reader really, much more of an ‘outdoors girl’ and would rather be out with the dogs walking in her wellies. Still, at least he’d poured her good strong cup of tea, just as she liked it with two sugars.
 
It was alright for Arnie though. The letter hadn’t been addressed to him. He hadn’t been accused, she thought, but then Arnie had always  been out in the fields, never there to help with the kids. She’d been the one to do the disciplining, had to.
 
Did I do it right? she wondered. Or did I just get it all wrong? Why does he hate me like that? Why did he say I beat him?
 
Deep down though, Joan knew what he was referring to. It had been a raining day in August. The kids had both been cooped up for weeks as the rain fell and the marshland flooded and everyone wandered if their sheep would be ok and if they’d make it through alright.
 
In her mind, Joan saw the scene. Paul had been over-excited all day, something to do with drinking fizzy orange his grandmother had given him early in the morning. He’d been bashing his toys on the floor, on the table, against the wall, into the door. He’d got ink on her sofa and he’d damaged the paint on the door and none of the warnings could stop him. She’d shouted, she’d been quite, she’d tried to sit him in the corner, but Paul was having none of it. Finally, she’d sent him to his room.
 
If only it could have stopped there, she thought. If only he’d been quite. Instead he’d jumped on the floor above the kitchen and cracked the ceiling and he’d screamed until she’d been forced to go upstairs.
 
She’d taken the slipper. It had been an old slipper, worn, frayed even in the toes. She’d done what her Dad would have done. She’d shown Paul the slipper and she’d told him what would happen, but he wouldn’t listen.  Wouldn’t calm down. Wouldn’t stop.
 
Finally, she’d lost her calm and she’d smacked across the back of the legs with slipper. He still hadn’t stopped and she’d smacked him five times in total with the slipper until his screaming turned to crying and to pain.
 
God, she thought. What did I do? Why did I do it that way? Why didn’t I find another way?
 
And she remembered that it was Bruno who had stormed into the house, pushing her out of the bedroom and calmed Paul. It was Bruno who had rubbed Paul’s legs with cream and Bruno who had taken her downstairs to comfort her too in her remorse. Arnie had been in the fields until late that night and the crisis had been over by the time he came home. Only Bruno really knew what she had done, and why, because that was what their father did with them.
 
She sighed. She hoped that Paul would not make her pay for that one afternoon all her life. Had his childhood, every other happy memory been eradicated by that one wrong deed?
 
She pulled up her knees on the sofa and propped her elbow on them. Huh, she thought, at least she had brought him up correctly, married with a baby and still with relatively good morals. He hadn’t turned out homosexual like the neighbour’s son. He hadn’t taken drugs or robbed old ladies. He hadn’t done many things she would be ashamed.
 
It hurt though, that he didn’t want to see her, but she wouldn’t let him know how much. And in the meantime, at least there was Jess.