Wise Child

by Audrey Reimann

  'I get the gist of it, Doreen,' she said. 'I've not had any experience but I know all about it.'

  This delighted Doreen. 'I've had a lot of practice!' She pushed her lips out in the common-as-muck way she had and said, 'Ooh! I can't go long without it. It takes a lot to satisfy me. That's my trouble ...!'

  Isobel tried a weary expression, but such talk always upset her. 'Why are you marrying Cyril?' she asked. 'If you make fun of him for loving you?'

  'Fun of him for loving you?’ Hark at you!' She had not dropped her taunting tricks. 'Prim little miss, aren't you?'

  Isobel was going pink, as she always did when she made a fool of herself in front of Doreen. 'How else could I put it? I take it that's why you are marrying so young. Because you love Cyril?'

  Doreen screeched with laughter and then kicked out with the toe of her shoe. 'Have you nearly done?'

  Miss Duffield and her dressmaker niece were going to run the shop all day on the Saturday of Doreen's wedding. Mam was not well enough to go, and to Isobel's relief her stepfather refused his invitation on the grounds of being away that weekend. He had to go away to make his excuse valid. He would not have dared show his face in Macclesfield when he'd refused the invitation.

  Isobel was going to have a weekend to herself. It was going to be a 'right good do', Mr Grimshaw said. 'No expense spared for our Doreen.' And Doreen said that everybody who was anybody in the town had been invited. The Chancellors were going, as Doreen and her father were the printworks mainstays. Doreen was so needed at Chancellor's that she was going to continue working after she was married. It was very rare, even in Macclesfield, for a married woman who was not a mill-worker to stay in paid employment after she was married.

  On the eve of the wedding, Isobel took round to Doreen's house the dresses and her present - a smart Ewbank carpet sweeper in polished wood with detachable handle and white rubber tyres.

  'Doreen's at work. She's getting everything in her office up to date,'Mr Grimshaw said. 'How will Chancellor's manage without her for a week?'

  'I expect you will miss her,' Isobel said with careful politeness.

  Mrs Grimshaw said to her husband, 'We'll be a lot happier when tomorrow's over. Won't we, Bert?'

  The following day when Isobel awoke and saw the sun streaming into the bedroom, it occurred to her that she was in a happy mood and had been so for a week. Was she coming out of the depression?

  It was going to be a perfect day.

  She ate breakfast and lit the gas geyser to heat the water for her bath. She hung her dress up in the bathroom and luxuriated in the hot water as she looked at it. She had made a slim-fitting mid-calf-length tailored dress in a dusky-pink, cream-embroidered Spot Angolaine -a new wool fabric. It had wide, padded shoulders with long, narrow sleeves and fine pleating that fanned out from just above the knee. To finish off the neckline she had made a cream-coloured berthe -a silk georgette scarf collar with double frills. She had used the same georgette to trim a cream Beanie-hat. She had new shoes that were high-heeled and pink, with an instep strap and chisel-toes.

  She dressed and brushed her hair until it shone and was soft enough to pin into a chignon. Then she used all her best stuff -poudre Mattever, Laleek Longlash, Natural Rose lipstick and My Sin scent.

  The church was half-full. Isobel was seated on the fourth row back, behind Mr Chancellor and Ray. Ray kept turning round to smile at her. And looking at him, standing so upright and clean - and in church - she wondered how anyone could ever think that Ray was a bounder.

  Doreen came down the aisle on her father's arm, pale and veiled and mysterious. Cyril was a nervous heap until Doreen came to his side. Mr Grimshaw was bright-eyed with pride and love. Doreen was his most treasured creation.

  After the church came a whirl of photo-taking and laughing and shaking hands and sipping sherry, until at last Isobel found herself at the wedding feast table between Ray Chancellor and John Anderson, Shandy's big brother. Good manners made Isobel spend half the time in conversation with dull John Anderson and only half in the delight of listening' to Ray Chancellor's flirtations and witty comments.

  ‘Isobel Leigh! You've grown up,' he said early on in the meal.

  ‘No. I've grown an inch taller. It makes me seem older,' she said.

  'Mmmm! Don't look at me like that, Isabel. Your eyes are sending shivers down my spine,' he said.

  This time she didn't object. Light-hearted banter and a handsome young man's flattery had been missing from her life. Champagne was poured into her glass every time she emptied it and Isobel, who had vowed as a child never to touch strong drink and become like Mam, forgot her childhood promises. 'Doreen looks lovely, doesn't she?’ she said to Ray.

  Ray grinned. 'Yes, amazing - if you'd seen her last night.'

  'I went to her house, but she was working late,' Isobel said.

  He chuckled. 'Doreen worked her hardest last night.'

  'Her father said she was tying up the loose ends.'

  He almost laughed out loud. His eyes sparkled. 'Oh Isobel!' he said. 'You are priceless. How long have you known Doreen?'

  'All my life.' She drank the champagne down in one go.

  With the speeches and toasts they drank more champagne, and afterwards came a whirl of meeting Shandy's relations and being flattered by Ray and Shandy's brothers' attentions. Then it was half past four and everyone trooped down to Hibel Road station to see Doreen and Cyril off on the five o'clock train to London.

  Doreen looked splendid in the chevron-striped dress, which she wore with a blue coat and matching hat. Isobel had never seen her so elegant though by this time Doreen was well on the way to being tipsy; effusive in her farewells, especially to .the men. One or two of the older cousins were embarrassed at being kissed so hard in public on a station platform with every one cheering Doreen on.

  Ray was not embarrassed. He gave Doreen a great smacker until everyone called, 'that's enough!' and when they pulled apart there were cries of, 'Remember! You're a married woman!' to shrieks of raucous laughter.

  At any other time Isobel might have been embarrassed, but she was merry for the first time in her life and the behaviour of everyone felt like uninhibited fun. She joined in the larking around with the rest and let herself be chased up the platform by Ray to shouts of encouragement from the others until she fled into the ladies' waiting room to compose herself for the send-off.

  She had sobered up, walking back to the Parish Hall when Ray caught up with her and whispered, 'Do you really want to spend the evening jigging round a dusty hall?' He tucked her hand into his and said, 'I'd like to take you out to dinner. What d'you say?' And when she couldn't think: of a reply. 'Meet me at the West Park gates in half an hour.' And he was gone, airily waving goodbye to everyone.

  She reached the Parish Hall, but somehow the sparkle had gone. The more senior people, like Mr Chancellor and the older Andersons had already gone home. Fifty or so guests sat on the wooden benches that went round the dusty floor waiting for the band to arrive.

  Shandy said. 'Isobel? Are you staying for the dance? I thought you'd be going to your grandmother's.'

  The old rebellious impulse came over her; the going haywire feeling that had plagued her at school. 'No.' she said, 'I'm not staying for the dance. Nanna and Mam are expecting me. I don't like leaving, but ...'

  Then she was out and speeding down Cumberland Street, through the Infirmary grounds, out on to Prestbury Road past the workhouse, and running down to the park where Ray Chancellor stood, leaning against the gates.

  He took her hand and they ran like escapees to where the Delage was parked. 'Into the back until we're out of town,' Ray said. Isobel dropped on to the back seat. Would her name be mud if anyone saw her in the Delage?

  They were a mile out of town when Ray stopped the car and opened the door for her to come into the front. Then, when she was seated beside him, his eyes took in every little detail of her before he said in a different, softer voice, 'Isobel .. , Isobel ...'

&nb
sp; And before she could think of anything to say, he leaned over and kissed her full on the mouth, gently for a few seconds until she relaxed. then closer, his lips moving soft and warm and sweet-tasting on hers until she opened her mouth a little way. And something happened inside Isobel's head as all the pent-up passion that had been simmering under her frozen exterior - all the love and longing she'd put into the kisses with Ian - came spilling over. Her arms went up and wound around Ray's neck. She tasted a mouth that was hard and searching in hers and hot blood rushed to her head. as her whole body sprang to eager life. His hands slid from her back to rest one on her waist and the other on the bosom that felt as if it wanted to break free from the camisole and the pink dress and know the touch of his hands.

  They pulled apart.

  'Phew! Isobel.' Ray was evidently delighted. His arm was about her shoulder and he leaned back against the driving seat with closed eyes.

  She was breathing fast. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his arm and felt silky, warm sensations running over her skin. For Ray to have kissed her she must have been behaving provocatively without knowing she was 'asking for it'. But her face was wreathed in smiles, for all thoughts of Macclesfield - of the shop, of worries - were gone. She could think only of when, or if, he would kiss her again.

  He gave a devilish smile. 'Full steam ahead?' Then he laughed at her for having no answer but the silly delight that wouldn't be wiped off her face. With one arm about her shoulder, his long fingers stroking her skin inside the georgette collar, he pressed the starter button.

  Soon they were sailing down long, sweeping bends on the road to Alderley Edge, seeing ploughed fields behind hawthorn hedges. She was bursting with affection. She was eighteen and a bit and had spent too many long months alone. This was her first date and she wanted him to think her sophisticated, not the gauche girl she was. She said, in an uppity voice, 'Where are we dining tonight. Ray?'

  'The de Trafford Arms at Alderley.’ he said. 'All right, your ladyship?'

  'Did you ring and reserve a table?' Isobel knew that she was behaving provocatively again, because his hand kept straying back from the gear lever to her neck and her knees, and though his slightest touch set her skin on fire, she pretended that nothing was happening. She felt elegant and bold.

  'I have a standing reservation. I dine here every Saturday,’ he said.

  She thought about the other time she had been out for dinner and said, 'The last time I dined out was at the Palace Hotel in Southport. Will we be dancing tonight?'

  He put his hands back on the wheel because the road was full of bends. 'No,' he said. 'Just you and me. Good food. Good wines. A night of promise.’

  Isobel looked at the countryside and kept her nose in the air when they passed anyone on foot. Perhaps it was because of the champagne that she didn't care if the whole world saw her, sitting next to Ray Chancellor, bold and brazen, looking down her nose at everyone. But there were no poor people, no doley shops in those few miles. There were beautiful country houses with rose gardens and pony paddocks behind high hedges,and nobody to see them sailing by.

  Soon. they were speeding down the long hill that led to the village and pulling up in front of a black and white and redbrick half-timbered old hostelry, the de Trafford Arms.

  They were shown to a little alcove, where a table was set apart from the other diners. Lighted red candles flickered over the table where a bottle of champagne rested in a bucket of crushed ice. And as soon as they were seated and left with the menus, for the first time in her life, lsobel realised, her appetite had gone. She said, 'I can't eat a thing.'

  Ray reached for her hands across the table, It was like being in a film, where the handsome hero says, 'Darling ... you know ... you know that …'

  Ray said, 'I'll order. Relax and enjoy it. We have the whole night ahead of us.'

  He taught her how to swallow oysters while he touched her knee under the table. They ate filet de boeuf and drank claret while Ray made kissing mouths at her and held her glance until she could barely swallow. And all the time he was saying, 'Those smouldering eyes, lsobel. Did I say they send shivers up and down my spine?'

  It was exciting, seeing the effect her 'smouldering eyes' had upon him. Isobel kept looking at him when he told her not to, because she loved the warm, churning feeling that stirred in the pit of her stomach when his own greeny-grey eyes smouldered into hers. She tipped her head, laughing a little, letting the champagne from the second bottle slide easily down with the ice cream and brandy peaches. But after the coffee and cognac all she wanted was to melt in his arms and be kissed again and again.

  They went out into the dark, velvet spring night scented with fully blown leaves that were spread like a leafy canopy over the silent, empty road home. And all the time Isobel was willing him to stop and take her in his arms and kiss her. She leaned back, anticipation tightening in her, eyes closed while his hand fIngered her hair and throat and slid lightly inside the neckline of her dress to where her full breasts were fuming for him. She waited, trembling, for more.

  He didn't speak until they reached Bollinbrook Road and came to a crunching halt in front of the garage. The house was in darkness, Isobel faced him and put her arms up.

  'Not here.' He sounded annoyed. 'Let's go inside.'

  'No. We can't do that!' she said. It was wrong to be alone in a house with a man. He'd know it was wrong. A shiver ran, cooling, over her. She reached for her bag and searched for her keys. But her fingertips had lost all sensation. The keys were not there. She said, 'My fingers and my brain don't seem to be doing things together ...'

  He put out his hand. 'Here. I'll fInd them.'

  He found the keys and he held her hand to help her from the car. But her knees were weak. And the champagne that she thought had not affected her all day, in the colder air outside the car suddenly made her head so light that she lost her balance.

  'You've had too much to drink,' he said. 'I'll help you in.' And he half carried her to the front door, where she fell against him heavily while he put the key in the lock.

  The door closed behind them and Isobel leaned back to steady herself. She could not grasp, keep hold of any thought, while questions and possibilities were crowding into her mind. Had she crossed a threshold that was not just the front doorstep? A minute ago she could have said 'Enough!' Now she had no strength.

  She was holding on to his shoulders in case she fell over. Her breath was hot and shallow and her knees were like jelly. Here, in the hallway, her back to the front door, she was letting him push her arms down, letting him unbutton the front of her dress, undo the ties of her camisole and expose her full, milky white breasts. She had no strength to stop him from dragging down the bodice of her dress, nor could she speak when his open mouth fastened on to one side of her while his freehand teased the other breast. Her head was dizzy. She was faint, but tantalising sensations were tangling between his sucking mouth, caressing fingers and a place deep inside her. She was swooning, faint from champagne or pleasure; she was moaning and giving at the knees. And her hips were pushing towards him as he slid his arms under her legs and carried her, easily, up the stairs.

  He kicked open the door to Mam's bedroom, carried her to the bed without stopping to put on the light, pushed away the eiderdown with his elbow and dropped her down on to the sheets. And all the time, somewhere at the back of her dizzy mind, came the warning that she was behaving like a trollop. But he was strong and he was searching for her mouth, making hard kisses that set her on fire, made her melt and run liquid fire inside.

  'Isobel ... ?’

  'Yes.'

  'You know what's going to happen, don't you?'

  She tried to get up but he held her down with one hand while he pulled the pins out of her hair, throwing them on to the floor, literally letting her dark hair down until it fanned out all over the pillow. Then he kissed her again, long and hard until, head spinning, she almost fainted. His hands were stroking her neck and her breasts and
before she could catch up with what was happening he was ripping her clothes away, throwing them to the floor until all but her silk stockings were gone. She lay back in the darkness, quaking but stilled in suspense, immobilised, her iron will gone, the room spinning around her whirling head if she tried to close her eyes ...

  He was taking off his clothes. It took seconds before he said, 'Look.'

  In the silvery-white moonlight she saw him standing over her - a big strong man, aroused. She had never seen a naked man before. And now she was afraid, for there was nothing of love or gentleness in Ray. But it was too late to go back to how she was half an hour ago, because her limbs were as weak as her will - and fright was mixed up with sick excitement and a new hunger that was burning through her.

  She whispered, 'Don't ... don't let me. Don't do anything ... I don't want to ...' but he was lowering himself on to her and pushing her down to hold her, spreading her legs wide. He was making grunting noises, coming closer, and his mouth was on hers and his big hands were holding fast on to her breasts.

  'I won’t give you a baby, Isobel….’

  She didn't want to know. And she could not stop him, for his mouth was on hers again and now his fingers were sliding inside her and moving in a way that made her make a strange noise in the back of her throat. He forced his fingers wide, stretching inside her, hurting her. He stopped kissing her then, and leaned back a little and looked into her barely focused eyes, and in a low, husky voice he said, 'This is going to hurt. It always does, the first time.'

  'Stop, please ... Please. Stop! Don't ... !' she said. She wanted to cry out loud but his hands were holding on to her hair and a great heaviness was on her and every nerve in her body was stretched against the quick, sharp pain as he drove fast and hard inside her. Isobel felt him slide tight inside, filling her, and the pain was gone and only strength and a pushing higher into her was happening. Then came weakness with unbearable tension until he moved faster. And she heard herself calling out, over and over, 'Oh, no ... Oh, no ... Please stop ...' until, just before she cried out again, he stopped, held back and looked into her eyes as if he were asking did she want him to go on. But he did not stop. Suddenly he made the grunting sound louder than before and toughly he forced her knees up wide about his muscular hips before he threw back his head and thrust himself, hurting her, hard, fast and deep until she cried out. Then it was too late to stop him, for it was all going so fast ... so fast. He was taking her into that breaking, pulsing need that brought her, crying out with the force of it, into and over the edge of a pleasure that was all mixed up with pain, and Isobel was holding on to him for dear life as a desperate passion spent itself in wave upon agonising wave.