He’s not like that, you know. Some men, they just use you up and knock you down. Not my Davey. He’s a lovely man. He’s a strong man. He’s always seen me right. It’s not his fault if his work sometimes winds him up. He works hard for what little we have, and he needs to let off steam.

I don’t mind him going to the boozer a few nights a week. All his mates go and a man needs to be with his mates. Right? Anyway, if he didn’t go to the boozer, then he’d be around the house and I know how confining that can be for someone. No. I like it that he goes out, even if he does come home a bit worse for wear if you know what I mean. That’s Davey though. He’s a big man and he does things big.

The thing you don’t understand, though, is that he’s really gentle inside. He’s a big bear. He doesn’t know his own strength, that’s all. He sometimes gets frustrated and he doesn’t realise what he’s doing. It’s not his fault. I reckon if there’s anyone who should know how to handle him, it’s me, but I don’t always do the best of jobs. I wind him up, sometimes, you see. It’s being at home all day long, it gets me a bit lippy, and then I wind him up.

Some nights I think he won’t come back from the pub. I get frightened. After all, he must see this house, this life, as the thing I’ve locked him into providing for. But he comes back every time, and I don’t always handle him right. I sometimes have a go. I’m just relieved that he’s back, but I can’t tell him that, so I have a go. And sometimes, when he hits me, I know it’s the only way to stop the argument that I’ve started, and I’m sorry.

He looks after me, though. Don’t you see? If it wasn’t for him I’d have nothing. So it’s not his fault. He just doesn’t know his own strength. It’s not his fault.