Poppy's Dilemma

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Huh! There’s more chance o’ being struck by lightning in that bloody tunnel over there. I’m desperate for a jump, Dog Meat. I could roger me own mother.’

  ‘How much you willing to pay?’

  ‘Pay? I wouldn’t pay to roger me mother, Dog Meat, you daft bugger.’

  ‘I don’t mean your mother, you fool. I mean how much would you pay to have a woman?’

  ‘Why the hell should I pay? Wenches are normally willing enough.’

  ‘But it’s finding one, eh, Jericho? And there’s nothing spare in here tonight.’

  ‘Come a walk with me into the town then, eh?’

  ‘I told yer, I got no money.’

  ‘I’ll pay for your beer. I bet there’s plenty spare knocking about Dudley.’

  ‘I can’t be bothered. I’m stopping here. How much you willing to pay for a woman, Jericho? Just tell me.’

  ‘Why? What’s it to you?’

  ‘Well … I’m skint, see. Give me the price of a gallon o’ beer and you can borrow Minnie. That way we help each other out.’

  ‘Are yer serious?’

  ‘Course I’m serious.’ Dog Meat raised his forefinger in warning. ‘Only one jump, though. And don’t let on to her as we’ve got this arrangement. Just pretend you want to seduce her.’

  ‘And what if she won’t let me? What if she’s as tight with it as that Poppy Silk?’

  Dog Meat grinned. ‘Well, I can make you no promises, Jericho. It’s a risk you’ll have to take. But it’s the best offer you’ll get this side of tomorrow morning. She was always game enough with me.’

  ‘And it don’t bother yer, her going with me?’

  ‘Bother me? Why should it bother me? It only bothers me if I can’t get a damned drink. Have her. Just so long as she don’t know as I’ve had beer money off you for the privilege.’

  ‘So what you gunna do while I’m getting stuck up your wench, eh?’

  ‘I’m gunna stop here and get bloody soused. It’s a good scheme, eh, Jericho? This way we both get our fill.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Jericho said. ‘So where is she?’

  ‘At Hawthorn Villa, as far as I know.’

  Jericho dug in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a handful of coins. He counted them and handed them over to Dog Meat. ‘I’ll let you know what I think of her,’ he said with a leer. ‘If you’re interested, that is.’ He finished his drink calmly and went out.

  Minnie Catchpole was standing on the front doorstep shaking a rug as Jericho approached Hawthorn Villa. A cloud of dust and debris was instantly taken by the breeze, which blew much of it back over her. Minnie pulled a face and cursed as she spat out some of the pieces and picked bits out of her hair. When she saw Jericho striding towards her, she gave an embarrassed smile.

  ‘Minnie! How are you?’

  ‘Covered in dust, Jericho. Seen Poppy, have yer?’ She rolled up the rug ready to take inside.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about Poppy. She’s full of herself, feeling sorry for herself, thinking the world revolves around her.’

  ‘Well, she has lost her father,’ Minnie reminded him.

  Jericho shrugged. ‘Aye, I know all about that. But it ain’t just that, Minnie. She only ever thinks of herself. Now you …’ He looked at her admiringly.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘I get the feeling as you’re easier to get along with.’

  Minnie smiled coyly. ‘I might be, Jericho. Who knows?’

  ‘I do. And what’s more, you’m pretty with it. I don’t know why I waste me time on Poppy bloody Silk when there’s lovely wenches like you around … Pity Dog Meat’s already bagged yer for himself, eh?’

  ‘I know,’ Minnie replied ruefully, desperate for a way to tell him that Dog Meat wouldn’t stop her doing what she wanted to do. Already her heart was beating faster at what Jericho was implying. ‘But Jericho, I’m always open to offers, you know. I mean, Dog Meat does what he wants to do, and I do what I want. It ain’t as if we’m proper wed. I on’y sleep with him.’

  Jericho shrugged, overtly feigning resignation of the circumstances, but inwardly heartened by her response. ‘Fancy a walk, do yer? It’s a grand evening.’

  ‘I don’t mind. Where to?’

  He shrugged again. ‘Anywhere. I dunno. In the opposite direction to The Wheatsheaf, eh?’ There was a gleam in his eye. ‘We could talk some more, if you like …’

  ‘All right. But maybe we shouldn’t be seen together. Folk might get the wrong end o’ the stick.’

  ‘That’s a point,’ said Jericho. He looked up at the sky. It was dusk and would soon be dark. ‘Tell you what, Minnie … Meet me just inside the tunnel … In five minutes.’

  ‘Shall I bring this rug wi’ me? It’d be something for us to sit on while we talk …’

  He nodded and couldn’t help but grin. ‘Good idea. I’ll wait just inside the tunnel, like I say.’

  Jericho stalked away from the encampment to the cutting and the entrance to the tunnel, hunching up in his moleskin jacket in an effort to make himself look smaller. He turned his head and looked furtively behind him towards the untidy shanty of huts two hundred yards away. Not a soul stirred. Already an old moon, reddish and low, was hiding behind black-fleeced clouds that were tinged with its eerie glow. Across the landscape, plumes of factory smoke bent like the tails of a hundred furry dogs. Here and there a feeble light glimmered.

  Jericho breathed deeply, drawing in the cool night air. His exhilaration was matched now by his anticipation. He moved a further twenty yards inside the tunnel and waited. Within a few minutes, he could make out the figure of Minnie in the dimness as she walked briskly towards him; the rug she had been shaking was rolled up under her arm. The blood started coursing through his veins once more.

  ‘Psst! Over here,’ he said in a hoarse whisper and Minnie headed towards him.

  ‘I don’t think anybody saw me,’ she breathed.

  ‘There’s nobody about. But we’ll go a bit further into the tunnel, for fear.’

  Stumbling here and there over loose stones in the darkness, their noisy footfalls through the gravel bed echoed along the tunnel in the hundred and fifty yards or so that they put between themselves and the entrance. It was as dark as a crypt in there. Outside, the mean backsliding dusk allowed no light to enter.

  ‘Here?’ Minnie queried.

  ‘Aye, here will do.’

  Unable to see what she was doing due to the extreme darkness, Minnie carefully laid out the rug on the gravel, made sure it was level, and they sat down, each blind to the exact position of the other. She reached out a hand and felt his arm. She hitched herself closer to him and was reassured by the warmth of his body as they made contact.

  ‘It’s so dark in here,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t see your hand in front of your face.’

  ‘Are you frit?’

  ‘A bit,’ she admitted.

  ‘Don’t be. Here, let me put me arm around you to keep you safe … There … How’s that?’

  ‘Better …’

  ‘Good.’

  A pause developed when neither could think of anything suitable to say because of the curious circumstances. Minnie broke the silence.

  ‘It seems funny, me being here with you like this.’

  ‘I don’t mislike it. Do you?’

  ‘No. I din’t say as I mislike it … I like being with you, Jericho.’

  ‘You know I fancy you, don’t you, Minnie? I’ve always fancied you.’

  ‘I’ve always fancied you, Jericho. But I thought you was struck on Poppy.’

  ‘I still fancy Poppy,’ he admitted shrewdly. ‘But she’s a bit slow to let go of it.’

  ‘You ain’t had her then?’

  ‘Not much chance o’ that, Minnie.’

  ‘More fool her, I’d say.’ Minnie giggled girlishly. ‘Anyway, what would you say if Dog Meat found out we’d bin in the tunnel together?’

  ‘Christ, we mustn’t let him know, Minnie. It must be our secret.�
��

  Jericho felt Minnie’s arms come about him and he sought her lips urgently. When their mouths connected, they leaned backwards and lay on the rug. At once, Jericho reached out and took a handful of the hem of her skirt and hoisted it up to her waist as she raised her backside to aid him. She was wearing no stockings and the smooth flesh of her bare legs, slightly moist with the day’s perspiration, was a tonic to goad him on.

  ‘Oh, Jericho,’ she sighed as his large but skilful fingers gently caressed between her thighs. She reached down to the front of his trousers, unfastened the buttons of his fly and probed inside.

  ‘Christ, he feels lovely and hard, Jericho … And big.’

  ‘Oh, he’s big all right. And you feel lovely and soft, ready and waiting for him, by the feel o’ yer.’

  Minnie unfastened the rest of his buttons and eased his trousers over his buttocks. He manoeuvred himself between her legs and, without further ado, she guided him in. As she gasped with the pleasure of his movements, she pictured him naked on the night he fought Chimdey Charlie, remembering well how the sight of him excited her. Well, now she was enjoying him to the full as he thrust lusciously inside her. She pulled him hard into her by his buttocks and raised her legs so he could fill her up the more.

  ‘Christ, Jericho,’ she uttered ardently. ‘Jesus Christ …’

  ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘No, you do it really lovely. Ooh, ever so lovely … I could stand this all night …’

  They settled into a steady rhythm that too soon was interrupted by groans from Jericho.

  ‘Don’t stop, Jericho … What have you stopped for? You ain’t finished already, have yer?’

  ‘Christ, I’m done,’ he groaned, spent.

  ‘Well I ain’t. I hope you’m gunna finish me off …’

  ‘Course I will. There’s no rush …’

  ‘You could’ve fooled me.’

  ‘Well, I wanted you so bad, Minnie.’

  They lay a while longer, still joined, till a drip of water from the roof splattered on him and dribbled coldly down the cleft of his bare behind. He rolled off Minnie, lay beside her, then fondled her again with his dextrous fingers till she began wriggling more insistently. She let out shrieks of ecstasy that diminished into a series of little moans, then sighs, but the smile on her face remained fixed, although invisible in the darkness.

  ‘Better now?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, Christ, yes,’ she responded, with breathless enthusiasm.

  ‘I needed that, Minnie.’

  ‘And me, Jericho.’

  ‘We’ll come here again, eh?’

  ‘Tomorrow night, if you like,’ she suggested. ‘When Dog Meat’s gone out on the beer.’

  ‘Let’s hope somebody can lend him some money,’ Jericho remarked, the irony in his voice beyond Minnie. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

  ‘Am yer mad? He’d kill me.’

  ‘And don’t tell Poppy neither. If you tell Poppy, I’ll tell Dog Meat …’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell your precious Poppy.’

  They lay still and silent for a while, each privately reliving the pleasure. A few feet away, they heard a scuffling and Minnie thought it must be a rat. She froze and clutched Jericho’s arm tightly. Somebody tried to stifle a cough … or was it a laugh?

  Jericho sat bolt upright. ‘Who’s there?’ he challenged. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Tweedle Beak,’ came the amused reply.

  ‘Tweedle Beak? What you doing here?’

  ‘Daft bugger. What d’yer think? Same as you, Jericho, old son.’

  ‘Oh? So who’m you with?’

  Tweedle mumbled to his unseen companion. ‘What did you say your name was, love?’

  ‘Eliza,’ a little voice replied.

  ‘I’m with somebody called Eliza, Jericho.’

  Jericho realised there was a glimmer of hope. ‘I take it as you want me to keep me trap shut, eh?’

  ‘It’d be as well.’

  ‘Then you’d better keep yours shut about me and Minnie Catchpole.’

  Tweedle Beak grunted. ‘Well, I ain’t sid yer in here, have I, you dirty bloody ram? Not in this darkness.’

  ‘Then I ain’t seen you neither, Tweedle.’

  Minnie and Jericho stood up, and Minnie felt round for her rug in the blackness while he hitched up his trousers and fastened his fly buttons. She found the rug and rolled it up, felt for Jericho, and held his arm as they made their way back to the tunnel’s mouth, followed close behind by Tweedle Beak and the woman he had picked up from one of the local public houses.

  Two minutes later, Buttercup left the tunnel. He had entered it earlier with a lantern to inspect the standard of workmanship required by Treadwell’s. When he saw two other people about to enter, he blew out his light and waited patiently while they got on with what they had come for. When another couple entered and revealed their identities, his interest intensified. When they made their exit, he followed them unseen to the edge of the encampment, where they all went their silent, separate ways …

  Next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, Poppy awoke to the sound of her mother vomiting into the jerry that lurked under her bed.

  ‘What’s up wi’ thee, wench?’ Tweedle muttered from under the blanket.

  ‘Something I ate,’ Sheba replied economically, and heaved again into the jerry that she held in her lap as she sat on the bed.

  ‘Well, mek sure as yo’ doh ate it again. What time is it?’

  ‘Time to get up, I reckon.’ She put down the pot and wiped her mouth with the hem of her cotton nightgown. As she stood up and stretched, she ran her fingers through her long hair. Poppy peered over her bedclothes watching her mother, wondering how much she was pining for Lightning Jack. She knew her mother’s expressions; they were a signal of her innermost feelings, and thus she could read her anguish. If only Jack were here; he would be proud as punch to know she was carrying another child.

  The rest of the household began to stir. The dog belonging to one of the navvies in the next room yapped at being disturbed, and a disgruntled voice suggested the animal must be hankering for a kick up the bollocks. Tweedle Beak rose from his side of the bed and scratched first his beard and then his backside before a succession of ripping farts diminished all other sounds to incidental background noise. Poppy judiciously held her blanket to her nose and waited till Tweedle got dressed and was gone before she ventured out of bed. She washed and dressed and brushed her teeth, a habit she had acquired some time ago when she realised that such things as toothbrushes and tooth cleaning powder were available at modest cost and made your breath smell sweet. (She had been grateful for it when the opportunity to kiss Robert Crawford had presented itself.) That done, she took out the jerry, holding her breath while she carried it outside to the midden heap.

  Poppy wished to contrive another casual meeting with Robert Crawford when she had finished her jobs. She wanted to thank him for his note and for his kind consideration. So, when the time was appropriate, she tied on her bonnet, took off her apron and stepped outside into the warm midday sunshine. The area around the encampment was quiet now that the workings were concentrated towards Netherton and Pensnett. Poppy did not know that Robert Crawford was once more also contriving to meet her. They coincided close to where they had met the last time.

  ‘Oh, Poppy, I’m so glad I’ve seen you—’

  ‘Thank you for your note, Robert. It was very thoughtful.’

  ‘You were able to read it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It was kind of you to send it.’

  ‘But I want to tell you face to face how sorry I am to hear of your father’s death. You must be distraught.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Robert, but it’s upset me a lot. I thought the world of my dad.’

  ‘I distinctly gained that impression. And how is your mother?’

  She shook her head and tears glimmered in her blue eyes. ‘My mother misses him as well … We all do.’ She did not want t
o expand on her mother’s situation. He might know about her and Tweedle Beak already for all she knew, but just in case he did not, she had no desire to mention it.

  ‘Please pass on to your mother my sincerest condolences, Poppy. He was a good man, your father. Hard working, decent, down-to-earth. Very likeable. I’m sure all his workmates will miss him.’

  Poppy broke down in a flood of tears. ‘I’m sorry, Robert,’ she blubbered, taking a rag from the pocket of her skirt and drying her eyes. ‘I can’t help crying over him. I can’t believe that I’ll never see him again. I keep thinking any minute he’ll come walking round the corner with his pickaxe and shovel over his shoulder. If only I’d known what was going to happen to him when he left us, I’d have stopped him going somehow.’

  ‘You could never have known, Poppy,’ Robert said gently and drew her to him consolingly. ‘It’s not your fault that he’s dead, and you mustn’t blame yourself …’

  Poppy leaned her head against his chest and sobbed. It was so good to feel his arms about her again. Maybe this was all she needed – to be in Robert’s arms. Maybe it was Robert she was really grieving for. But how could she tell when her emotions were so agonised? It was difficult to separate them. Was the grief she felt for Lightning Jack any more acute than that which she felt over losing Robert, however brief their affair? But being back in Robert’s embrace only made her weep the more. No doubt he would think her a complete fool.

  Robert looked over his shoulder to see if they were being watched and self-consciously, but reluctantly, let go of her. ‘Listen, Poppy, walk with me a little way. Talk about your father all you want. My own father always reckons that talking about your problems with somebody lessens them, and I’m certain it’s true.’

  She nodded tearfully, content to walk at his side. Rather than walk towards the town, they ambled down the path towards Netherton.

  ‘So,’ Robert said. ‘Tell me more about Lightning Jack.’

  Poppy wiped her eyes and sighed profoundly. ‘What is there to tell? He was a good man at heart. You said so yourself. He cared for us, his children. He cared for my mother in his way, although he drank like a fish and would spend most of his money on drink when he got paid.’