The Husband's Story by Norman Collins

them back like, can we?’ Beryl reminded him. ‘They wouldn’t take them. Not now they’ve been fitted, they wouldn’t.’
    The toe of her pale beige shoe began twitching. She could feel herself getting upset, just the way she always did whenever Marleen was being difficult.
    Mr Winters turned again towards Stan. He was perched right on the edge of his chair as though he hadn’t yet had time to sit down properly.
    â€˜I take it you don’t want to clear things up with a single deposit?’ he asked.
    Stan wondered why Mr Winters had even suggested it. He must have known perfectly well that it was out of the question. Mr Winters was Stan’s bank manager, too. He had only to press the bell for his statementto be brought in and laid down alongside Beryl’s.
    â€˜I couldn’t do it,’ he said. ‘Not possibly.’
    â€˜Then shall we say something every month?’ Mr Winters enquired. ‘What about ten pounds a month? Then it’ll be out of the way by…’ Mr Winters had put down his pen and was drumming out the months with his fingers, ‘… by Christmas.’
    Stan shook his head.
    â€˜It wouldn’t leave us enough to get along on,’ he told him. ‘We can only just manage as it is. Sometimes I don’t know where…’
    Mr Winters was still being kind, still smiling.
    â€˜Then what about eight pounds? That’s only two pounds a week, remember. I’m afraid the Inspectors wouldn’t like it to be less than that.’
    â€˜Does it have to start now?’
    The words had been blurted out. He had started saying them almost before Mr Winters had finished.
    But there was no rush about it, Mr Winters explained. No one was putting any pressure on him. Just a transfer from next month’s pay cheque into his wife’s account. That’s all it was. If Stan would simply sign the form, the three of them could then forget about it.
    It was evidently the way Mr Winters had expected the interview to end because he had one of the forms lying there ready in the folder. All that he had to do was to take the cap off his pen and fill in the amount.
    â€˜Eight pounds a month it is, then?’ he asked.
    Stan merely nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It was Beryl who spoke for him.
    â€˜It won’t make any difference really, will it?’ she said. ‘Not with the promotion, I mean. Not with Stan’s salary going up like at the same time.’
    As soon as Stan had signed the form and handed it back, Mr Winters turned again to Beryl.
    â€˜There you are,’ he told her. ‘That’s all settled then. It didn’t take long, did it? And it’ll all be cleared off by next year.’ He paused. ‘No more cheques, of course, in the meantime please. Not till the account’s in the black again. Otherwise we’ll just be back where we started.’
    It was Mr Winters who was smiling now. And it was then that Beryl noticed what a nasty, toothy smile it was. Like some old crocodile grinning at you, she thought. Just for his own cruel kind of pleasure, he was taking it out on her, and enjoying himself.
    But secretly she was pitying him. Even though he didn’t know it, he’dgot it coming to him all right. As soon as Stan’s promotion was through and the overdraft was paid off, she was going to close her account and move across the road to Barclay’s.
    Barclay’s was bang opposite. Mr Winters wouldn’t be smiling quite so much when he saw her drawing up across the road in the sort of car that the wife of the Head of the Department would be driving.

Chapter 6
    It was on Sundays, especially, that Stan wished that he had a dog.
    He’d brought up the matter any number of times, suggesting something big and muscular like an Alsatian or a Boxer to protect Beryl when she was alone in the house, or something small and affectionate, such as a Peke or a Cairn for