Part 1

Twelve hours on her feet, and Jane hadn’t even had time for a bathroom break, let alone the time to eat the sandwich still waiting at the nurses’ station. The buzzer sounded again. Sharp, insistent.

She was hungry. It was a disappointing lunch, but it would do. She had hoped her husband would make her something to eat. Something a bit more exciting.

Having moved from Trinidad, she missed the food. She would have made roti with okra and white fish. Something with a bit more spice and a bit more imagination, if she’d had time. Even the simple pleasures were lacking at the moment.

As usual, her husband had slept in, so she’d made it herself.

He’d been out of work for a while now, and hadn’t done anything to fix it. Hadn’t even started looking. Hadn’t done anything but feel sorry for himself and bury his head in the sand. And spend her money. She’d started finding empty bottles hidden behind the sofa and under the bed. She hadn’t worked out how or when to mention it to him. Anyway, there was no time to think about that now.

When she first came to England, working as a nurse had seemed promising. And so had the marriage.

At the end of the day, all that was left was exhaustion. And a sandwich made with cheap plastic ham. It was all she could afford. Quickly put together at 5 a.m. before she started out for her shift. Dry and unforgiving. The same as her marriage.

She’d moved to England on a promise of a better life. More opportunity. She married an Englishman, which she’d been pretty proud of at the start. Her family back home were proud too. So she said nothing about the situation. She was hoping her kids would have a better life than she did.

The kids were at home while she was at work, and she hoped their father would remember to feed them something. He’d called her on the way in to ask what to do with them. She’d lost her temper. She didn’t have time for this – surely, he could use his initiative? Did she have to organize everything? There was food in the freezer. He definitely knew how to heat up a tinned pie. He’d been putting them in the oven since his bachelor days, before they’d even met. He could manage that much. Why did he need to call her for advice on every little thing?

She was already tired when she started the shift, and now, on top of the tiredness, she was in a foul mood after the argument. She just wanted to leave it all behind. Have the whole situation blow up. Start fresh somewhere else, doing something else, being someone else.

She knew that wasn’t possible. Someone had to pay the bills. Look after the kids.

There was a time when she’d enjoyed nursing. When it had felt like adventure and promise. She tried to remember that and forget everything else. But it kept lurking at the back of her mind. Would he keep pretending he was working for yet another day? He’d been doing that a while now, and she didn’t want to mention it. There were a lot of things she didn’t know how to mention. Male pride is easily dented, and it’s usually the family that bears the brunt of it if you bring it up.

Better to stay quiet and get on with things.

That’s what her mother had taught her.

Her father had been the same. Overbearing, quick to anger. He was one of the big reasons she’d left. She often felt guilty about leaving her mother and sister behind, but she couldn’t stand it any longer. Even if she’d stopped to talk to a boy in the street, she’d get the belt.

Or worse.