Free A Five Year Sentence by Bernice Rubens Page A

mother for it, as he blamed her for everything. He had tried to understand her. Often enough he had dwelt on her past miseries, how his father had left them both, and penniless, and not a word from the brute since he had disappeared. Daily she cursed him and all his kind, and as she looked at Brian in his rompers, or school-clothing, or even later in his army uniform, she heartily wished he was a girl. But since he’d turned out like his father, then, as a man, she would use him. And gradually over the years, she made of him her surrogate husband and punished him as she would have done his prototype, had he been around. All this Brian understood in hindsight, but understanding did little to increase his tolerance or to diminish the bitterness of his feelings towards her. What worried him most was that he himself had been party to her practices, that it took two to do almost everything, including her own brand of colonisation. He bit his lips in anger, as he recalled his years of positive submission, and at that moment he resolved that when he got home there would be an end to it. That he would look after her only if she begged, and only if he had nothing better to do. Then slowly he would reverse the roles that she had insisted on. But suddenly he remembered too, that often in his life he had made that decision, but somehow, in the end, she had overcome. So he sat there gritting his false teeth with hatred, while on the screen, a young man was ushered into his presence, bowing and scraping his way into his affection.
    Miss Hawkins saw in the young man her suitor, and as he was asking the old man for her hand, Brian was demanding a little more reverence before granting it. Which the suitor gave now on bended knee. But still the old man withheld his permit and Miss Hawkins curled her lip in disgust, convinced that the old lecher wanted her for himself. He was to come back in a year, the old man said, having fulfilled some impossible mission, the attempt at which would most likely entail his death. ‘Mean old thing,’ Miss Hawkins whispered to her companion as the scene changed on the screen and there was an interval to daydreaming.
    â€˜Serves him right,’ Brian said, still in the ebb of his fantasy.For Brian was relishing the aftertaste of power. ‘I don’t think I want to go to a cafe afterwards,’ he said, feeling a sudden need for self-assertion. But he could be persuaded, he knew. But only if she said ‘please’ often enough, to the extent of begging, or even buying his favours, and he would be content. It was a negative form of self-assertion, but at least it was a beginning.
    â€˜Oh please,’ she said. ‘I do like a cup of tea. With a cream cake as well.’
    â€˜I don’t like cakes.’
    â€˜What do you like then?’
    â€˜I like something savoury. Welsh rarebit, or mushrooms on toast.’
    â€˜We can have that then.’
    â€˜I can do without it,’ he said.
    â€˜Please,’ Miss Hawkins said, ‘I was so looking forward.’
    â€˜It’ll be costly,’ he said.
    â€˜I’ll treat you,’ Miss Hawkins almost shouted, and regretted it as soon as it was out, recalling the order in her diary to enjoy herself.
    â€˜I’ll think about it,’ he said, having already made up his mind.
    She writhed at his side, deserting her image on the screen, while she scratched in her mind, searching for any advantage in the situation. He wanted her as his slave, she decided. He wanted her for her service. The role was not unappealing. She had a distinctive need to obey, to be subservient and when she’d retired, the diary had replaced her masters. Brian would be a duplication, but withal, she granted, a human one. Yes, she decided, she could serve a double master. She had found a happy rationale for paying for his tea, and subsequently perhaps, for all his pleasures. It was prostitution in reverse, and it thrilled her with disgust