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housewife and somehow in the meantime I’d dropped out of the theatre group, which folded anyway.
    The government was desperate to get women back to work; their posters begged women to train as nurses or teachers or go into factories. Nursing and teaching didn’t appeal to me at all. I really only wanted to be an actress, but my father completely squashed that idea. No daughter of his, etc. My headmistress, Miss Pennington-Harborough, had said I was Oxford and Cambridge material, but Dad wasn’t having that either. No, it was secretarial college for me, but I didn’t much care for the idea of a secretarial job either, now the war was over.
    Alan and I had discussed it, in a desultory sort of way. When I first met him he’d even said he might be able to get me an acting part in a film, but now we were married I had a feeling he liked me being at home. The flat was small, but still took a lot of cleaning, rations had to be queued for, it all took such ages, or perhaps I noticed it more, now the cold meant we were going out less.
    â€˜What d’you intend to do?’ enquired Alan in a neutral tone of voice.
    For the moment it was just about money, not an acting career: ‘I thought – something in publishing. Or possibly … with a magazine.’
    â€˜You can’t just walk into that sort of work. You need experience.’
    â€˜I have to start somewhere.’
    â€˜You could start by helping me. I need someone to type out my manuscripts.’
    So that was it. ‘You mean as your unpaid secretary.’ I was surprised how angry I was.
    It was one of those blazing rows that ignited from nothing. We were shouting at each other by the time Colin appeared.
    â€˜What’s up?’
    â€˜He doesn’t think I should get a job.’
    â€˜I didn’t say that!’
    We rowed furiously as we walked towards the Charing Cross Road. Finally when we reached the corner, it was Colin’s turn to shout: ‘Oh do shut up , both of you! Of course you should get a job. There’s no place for ladies of leisure in the post-war world. That may be what your mother expected, Dinah, but things are different now.’
    As if I’d been the one who wanted to stay at home! I was speechless with impotent fury.
    Swiftly, though, my rage leaked out into bleak desolation and I was left as flat as a deflated barrage balloon. Who was this man I’d married? He was a stranger, I didn’t know him, didn’t understand him. And he didn’t love me, he thought only of himself, his career. And all those promises of a film part – just a cheap seduction technique.
    Leicester Square tube was nearby. ‘I’m going home,’ I said. I began to walk away, but he put his hand on my arm to pull me back.
    â€˜Dinah! Don’t be ridiculous.’ For a second I believed he was contrite, but all he said was: ‘You’re behaving like a spoilt child.’
    I stood there, hanging my head, mulishly silent, fighting tears.
    â€˜Oh, do come on,’ said Colin. ‘We’ll be late. We’re meeting Hugh and the Enescu gang at some seedy little club Colman belongs to in Mayfair. For God’s sake, let’s get it over with, try and make Hugh see sense.’
    â€˜ Please , Dinah.’ Alan’s voice was a little kinder now. I gave in, ungraciously. At that moment I’d honestly rather have been on my own, in the flat, having a good cry, not having to cope with the strain of keeping up with all these older people. They had such large, bulky plans, careers, obsessions – structures so large I couldn’t get past them, couldn’t get out into some space, some freedom, a place where I could have my plans, not fit in with them – with him all the time.
    Alan hailed a taxi. That was another problem – we hadn’t any money, but we took a taxi whenever we saw one, especially now it was so cold. Fortunately for our finances they