A Mother’s Sacrifice
**A gritty and emotional family drama, from the Sunday Times bestseller. Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries and Katie Flynn.**BEATENGlenda Jenkins has been beaten by her husband Harry one too many times – and this time he’s put her in a hospital bed. Battered and bruised, Glenda slowly makes her recovery. But she fears what awaits her back at home…BROKENWhen Glenda meets kind hospital porter Frank, he offers her a lifeline she can’t refuse. The pair decide to run away together, escaping the terror of Harry. But, fearing for her life, Glenda has to make the biggest sacrifice of all and leave her baby, Johnnie, behind.BEREFTSafe on the Kent coast, Glenda finally has the life she dreamed of. But without Johnnie, she’s a broken woman. Will she ever see her baby again? And will she ever be able to escape the fearsome shadow of Harry after all?
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KITTY NEALE
A Mother’s Sacrifice
Published by Avon an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
Copyright © Kitty Neale 2017
Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008191672
Ebook Edition © December 2016 ISBN: 9780008191689
Version 2017-01-09
For my Mum.
To the most amazing and inspirational woman I have ever known. You have always been there for me to share my tears and my joys and have offered unconditional love and support throughout, without which I may have floundered. You have my greatest admiration and respect, and leave me in awe of your strength. You have given me life and opportunity, and I thank you for everything. I love you xxx
Table of Contents
Battersea, London, 1947
‘Glenda!’ The front door flew open and Glenda Jenkins tensed as she heard her husband shout.
‘Get your glad rags on, we’re going down the Castle. Alfie Ledger’s missus had a boy last night. We’re gonna wet the baby’s head.’
Glenda pulled the covers over Johnnie, tucking him into his crib. At seven months old, he was teething and it made him tetchy, so she didn’t want to wake him and drag him out in the damp evening air to Harry’s parents’ house. She hated going to the pub too, but knew it would be useless to protest. Anyway, it sounded like Harry was in a good mood and she dared not rile him.
She took a deep breath and moved her slim frame to the top of the stairs as she called down, ‘All right, love, just give me a few minutes. Have you checked with your mum that it’s OK to drop Johnnie in?’
‘No, but you know she loves having the little munchkin. Just get a move on, will you? We’re missing valuable drinking time.’
Glenda sighed heavily again. It was Thursday, Maude’s Tombola night at the Catholic church, so she might not want to look after her grandson. But Glenda was used to Harry barking his orders, and when Harry said jump, she knew better than to argue. She would take Johnnie’s bottles and formula for Maude to make up. Once again, she felt a familiar surge of guilt that she’d been unable to breast-feed.
Quickly slipping off her housecoat and smoothing down her drab dark-green dress, Glenda checked her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She was twenty-four and her long legs would have looked good in one of those fashionable new knee-length skirts, but Harry wouldn’t let her have one as he said only tarts and whores wore them. She would have loved a smart jacket with shoulder pads too, but Harry said that big shoulders were for men, not for decent wives and mothers. Anyway, with clothes still being rationed, and only stuff made of cheap, scratchy material available, she’d have to make do with what she had.
Content with her dress, she patted her brown hair, wrapped a scarf over her waves and tied it under her chin before leaning in closer to the mirror to apply a touch of lipstick. Damn it, she thought as she noticed the yellowing mark still visible on her jaw. Harry rarely hit her on her face but his violence seemed to be escalating and last week, after a skinful of beer, he had come home the worse for wear and woken her, dragging her out of bed to warm up his dinner. She had thrown it away earlier, thinking he wouldn’t want it, but that had been the wrong thing to do. She had paid for her mistake with several blows to the head.
When they entered the smoky pub, Harry steered Glenda towards the saloon bar where several of his mates’ wives were already sat. Before the war women weren’t seen in London pubs, but things were changing and, as long as you were escorted, it was now acceptable to be in the saloon bar. A cheer went up from the group of men. ‘Look, Harry’s here!’
