by Nancy Carson
She had inevitably changed, along with the seasons and the years. She had changed just like the frost in winter, which formed its fancy crystal patterns on the window panes, then melted and disappeared with the inevitable thaw. She had changed like the sky changes from clouds and greyness to vivid sunshine and blueness, then back again, with a monumental certainty, and yet with such frustrating unpredictability.
In the distance she could hear the coarse huff-huff of a locomotive and she pondered anew how the coming of the railway had changed her life. Without it she would never have known Dickie Dempster, would never have cast eyes on his gloriously handsome face. But for the railway to broaden her horizon she might well have been content to live the rest of her life with Arthur Goodrich, evolving by default into his wife, unaware of the more desirable match which had lain latent, awaiting discovery. So it must be with many women who willingly succumb to the first man who comes to claim them, without troubling themselves to look further afield. She had seen and fallen in love with Dickie Dempster from further afield, a consequence of the railway’s construction. Both were immutable, which convinced her that this romance with Dickie was preordained, that it was meant to be.
Arthur, poor soul, had written again. Perhaps he would always write. Maybe he would never be able to let go. She regretted that, but it made no difference. Her destiny was set. She would marry Dickie; she knew it with a certainty. How could she ever have committed herself to Arthur, good and kind as he was, when all the time she knew unquestionably where and with whom her true fate lay? Self-sacrifice, for the sake of the uninvited love of another – however persistent – was not part of her temperament. Much as she hated to hurt Arthur, she hated the hypocrisy of pretence more. The white-hot heat of her love for Dickie Dempster was both truth and beauty, and she would settle for nothing less.
She was half expecting another letter soon from Arthur, to wish her well on her twenty-first birthday next Saturday. Why couldn’t he see where his best interests lay and try his luck with this Dorinda in Bristol? Then she need not feel so guilty about him.
The latch clicked and the door to the street opened. Lucy turned to look and saw Haden’s bulk filling the doorframe.
‘Nothing to do, our bab?’
‘I was just having a rest … thinking.’
He tapped his pipe into the fire grate and inspected the empty bowl. ‘Missing King Arthur?’
‘No, I’m not. That’s just it, Father, I don’t miss him at all.’
‘I never thought as you would. Whilst he’s a decent enough lad, I never thought he was stalwart enough for you, our Lucy.’
‘It’s nothing to do with him being stalwart or otherwise …’
‘Oh? What then?’ Haden was filling his pipe anew from his leather tobacco pouch as he stood with his back to the fire.
‘Didn’t Mother tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’
Well, this was as good a time as any to let her father know the real reason she did not miss Arthur. He would hear of it soon enough anyway from gossip, if he hadn’t already. ‘I finished with him. I’m seeing somebody else.’
Haden looked up from his task, surprise evident in his eyes. ‘Your mother never said. Who’s the lucky chap this time?’
Lucy told him.
‘Dickie Dempster, eh? And he’s a steady chap, is he?’
‘Like I say, he’s got a good job on the railway as a guard.’
‘I’d like to meet him, our Lucy. I’d like to satisfy meself that he’s a straight sort of a lad.’
‘Oh, he is. Straight as a die. I shall marry him, Father, I know I shall.’ She grinned, grateful he had not mocked her over her new love.
‘Has he asked you yet?’
She smiled wistfully. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then don’t count your chickens. I should hate for me favourite daughter to be hurt.’
‘I always thought our Jane was your favourite daughter,’ Lucy goaded, content either way.
‘I mean that you’m me favourite daughter still living in this house …’
Lucy pouted, lowering her eyes, in a pretence of sulking at his teasing.
‘Hey! Our Jane!’ Haden exclaimed. ‘Christ, that’s just reminded me. Her’s just told me as her’s having a bab.’
‘A baby?’
‘Yes. I tell you, it’s a load off me mind. I was starting to get worried as there was summat up. What with Moses being a cripple and that.’
Lucy’s feet were on the floor at once and she stood up animatedly. ‘She’s having a baby?’
‘That’s what I just said, in’t it? I’m supposed to tell you and your mother.’
‘Oh, Father, I shall have to go and see her.’ Lucy reached down for her boots and put them on, stooping down to fasten the laces. ‘Right away. Maybe I’ll meet Mother coming from the chapel and we can go together.’
‘What about me dinner?’ Haden queried, alarmed.
‘Oh, your dinner might be a bit late. Stay a bit longer in the Whimsey, that’s the answer.’
‘Hang me! I wish I hadn’t told you now till we was having we dinners. At least I’d have bin sure o’ getting some.’
‘Our Jane, Father’s just told me you’m expecting,’ Lucy said as she burst excitedly into their cottage in South Street. ‘When d’you reckon it’s due?’
Jane was hovering over her own fire grate about to turn the pheasant somebody had poached, which was roasting in the oven at the side. She looked up at her younger sister and smiled contentedly. ‘I reckon I’m about three months, our Luce. So sometime in March, I would’ve thought.’
‘D’you want a boy or a girl?’
‘I ain’t bothered one way or the other. Whatever it is, it’ll be loved.’
‘Oh, our Jane, I’m that excited. Have you thought of what you might call it?’
Jane chuckled. ‘I ain’t gi’d it a thought. There’s plenty time to sit and think about such things.’
‘What does Moses think? I bet he’s pleased.’
‘Pleased? He’s like a dog with two bones. But you’d expect him to be, eh?’
‘Oh, I would. Where is he?’
‘At the Whimsey. He said he’d meet Father there. I daresay they’ll have a few extra to celebrate. I just hope as he don’t fall off his crutch and hurt hisself. By the way, did you see that Dickie yesterday?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy sighed. ‘Now I have to wait till Wednesday to see him again. I was thinking, it might pay me now to finish working at the Whimsey so as I have more nights free. I can’t survive on seeing him just twice a week. What do you think, our Jane?’
‘I don’t know. Shall I ever get to meet him? Till I’ve met him I shan’t know what to think.’
‘Father wants to cast his eye over him as well. I’m meeting him at the station Wednesday. So I’ll take him to meet Mother and Father then … I’m head-over-heels, you know, our Jane.’
‘I know you are. That’s what worries me.’ Jane stooped to grab hold of the sizzling tray in the oven with a folded cloth. She turned it around and the glorious aroma of roasting game filled the tiny room. ‘If you want my advice, don’t give up working in the Whimsey altogether. Cut it down by a couple of nights by all means, but don’t make yourself too available for this Dickie chap, else he might get tired of you quick.’
‘But I want to be with him every hour, every minute that God sends.’
‘Struth, our Lucy, you have got it bad. Temper it.’
‘But it’s been such a long time coming, our Jane. It’ll be a longer time going away.’
The unsettled weather of the weekend became settled again and the rest of September looked set to remain still and fair. Wednesday evening arrived and, beneath a sky daubed with every vivid hue from red to gold, Lucy hurried to the station to meet Dickie. As the locomotive that brought him wheezed and its line of carriages clanked to a halt, her pulse raced in anticipation of being with him once more. Despite all the carriage doors being thrust open simultaneously, she immediately
spotted him stepping down from a second class carriage and her legs turned to jelly. When he saw her and waved, his glorious smile put even the sunset to shame.
As soon as he reached her he put his arm around her waist and she snuggled her head against his shoulder with a smile of eager affection.
‘The train’s late,’ she commented softly.
‘About five minutes,’ he agreed. ‘There was a bit of a problem at Priestfield. A coupling came adrift, but the guard on duty replaced it.’
‘Anyway you’re here.’ She beamed up at him and her eyes were soft lamps with the reflection from the low swollen sun. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘I’ve missed you, Lucy.’
They turned and walked towards the station’s exit and she linked her arm through his fondly.
‘Shall we walk along the cut or over the fields?’ he asked. There were certain connotations in the question. Earlier in their courtship it had been their habit to stroll along the canal of a Wednesday evening, but lately they had sauntered over the fields towards Kingswinford, inevitably stopping to lie down in the long grass and enjoy delicious long kisses that worked them both up into a frenzy of desire, as yet unsatisfied.
‘My father wants to meet you,’ she answered rolling her eyes, half embarrassed at having to report Haden’s request. ‘I think he wants to know that I’m in good hands.’
‘You’re in the best hands.’ He turned to her and grinned.
‘I know it, Dickie, but he needs to be convinced. So we’ll walk along the cut first. Then I’ll take you home. With any luck he’ll get tired of waiting and go up the Whimsey.’
‘I don’t mind meeting your father, Lucy. We could go to the Whimsey as well if you’ve a mind. I wouldn’t mind a quart of ale with your father. I’ll pay me corner.’
‘We’ll see. If we get on the towpath at Meeting Lane, we could come off at the Nine Locks then get to our house by walking down the Delph. I just want you to myself for a while first.’
Meeting Lane was narrow with high walls on both sides, and was like walking through a channel. Lucy and Dickie took advantage of the concealment it afforded by giving each other hugs and squeezes, and stopping for a half dozen playful kisses before they met the canal.
The water winked and glinted in the dying sun and strolling beside it was a pleasure, despite the ever-present chimney stacks and factory walls that lined the other bank. Ducks waddled circumspectly out of sight as soon as they were aware of the couple, and a drake that was nonchalantly bobbing up and down on the water took off in a panic, disturbing the industrial silence with the natural whoosh of water and the sudden flapping of powerful wings.
‘I’ve been thinking, Dickie …’
‘What?’
‘That I should give up working a couple of nights a week so that we can be together more. I want to be able to see you more than just twice a week …’
‘I suppose it depends what nights.’
‘Why? Are there some nights you can’t see me?’
He shrugged. ‘Some, I suppose …’
‘How about Saturday nights? I’d like to see you Saturday nights.’
‘But we already see each other Saturday afternoons.’
‘I want to see you Saturday nights as well, Dickie.’
‘But that’s me cribbage night. Anyway, I bet the gaffer at the Whimsey can’t spare you Saturday nights.’
‘I don’t care whether he can spare me or not,’ Lucy pouted. ‘It’s up to me, not him.’
They disturbed a rat which scuttled away. Then, two dirty, half-naked and barefoot children rose up with guilty expressions from behind a clump of thistles and tall grass, and also ran away in a departure similar to the rat’s.
‘What they up to, I wonder?’ Dickie said. ‘Maybe I should go after ’em and give ’em a clip round the ear apiece.’
‘Leave them be,’ she replied, anxious not to lose the thread of their conversation. ‘They was just trying to start a fire, I daresay. You know what kids are like.’
‘I know what some kids are like. They were a couple of proper little toe rags.’
‘Oh, never mind them. So you don’t want to see me Saturday nights?’
‘I didn’t say that. Course I want to see you. I want to see you as often as I can. But it ain’t always possible, is it? I mean, what if I have to change me shift? I do sometimes.’
Lucy sighed frustratedly. ‘If you have to change your shift I understand. As long as you’re not seeing that Myrtle …’
‘Myrtle?’ he scoffed. ‘You know I’m not seeing Myrtle.’
‘Good. ’Cause if you are, Dickie, I’ll stop seeing you. I’d never stand for that.’ It was an empty threat, issued in desperation. Lucy knew well enough that if he was still having anything at all to do with Myrtle, she would have neither the courage nor the conviction to stop seeing him. She would have no alternative but to put up with the anxiety and the heartache and compete, using every feminine wile that she could muster to overwhelm any such competition.
‘I wouldn’t expect you to stand for it, Lucy,’ he answered soothingly, calmly, to her immense relief. ‘That’s why I would never do that to you. I’ve told you before a dozen times – Myrtle means nothing to me anymore. It’s been months …’
‘But she keeps trying to win you back.’
‘I know she does, but she’s not winning me back.’
‘Do you promise me that, Dickie? Do you swear?’
‘Course I do.’ His voice was butter; creamy and smooth. ‘It’s the gospel truth, Lucy. I swear.’
She squeezed his arm in recognition of his consideration and smiled up at him, tears trembling on the long lashes of her wide blue eyes. ‘Kiss me again,’ she pleaded, forcing tears back, and turning herself to him in anticipation.
He took her in his arms and kissed her again, ardently, lustfully, thrusting himself against her. ‘Jesus God, I want you, Lucy,’ he breathed as soon as they broke off.
‘Honest?’
‘Honest,’ he repeated solemnly, as if it were an oath. ‘D’you remember what I said to you that first Saturday afternoon? How I swore I’d bed you?’
She nodded, her forehead resting on his shoulder, unable to look up at him lest he could see through her clear eyes and read her sensual thoughts.
‘I don’t know how I’ve kept my hands off you this long. But I don’t intend to wait much longer …’
She knew it was time. Indeed, she yearned for the moment. ‘I’m glad, Dickie,’ she whispered. ‘’Cause I don’t want you to wait any longer … But not here. Not tonight.’
‘No, not tonight.’ There was a hint of humour in his voice. ‘Shall you be all right Saturday?’
She caught his meaning and nodded again, still unable to meet his eyes.
‘Good.’ He lifted her chin and smiled caringly into her soft eyes. ‘I love you, you know, Lucy. That’s why I want you so much.’
She returned his look, with all her commitment shining through, tenderness brimming through the watery tears that still quivered on her lashes. ‘If you love me only half as much as I love you, I’ll be content,’ she said.
‘No, Lucy.’ He shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t. Anyway, I love you twice as much as that … Come on, dry your eyes and let me meet your father. I should hate him to think as I’d been making you cry.’
Chapter 14
On the Friday before her birthday, as she returned from the glassworks, Lucy met Miriam Watson who was approaching from the opposite direction, also on her way home. The two girls saw each other almost daily returning from work, but their Saturday trips out to Dudley and Wolverhampton had been curtailed because of Lucy’s intimate assignations, which naturally took priority.
The mercurial September weather had failed to fulfil its promise and there was a light drizzle. The heavy clouds threatened more to come.
‘I’m sick to jeth of this weather,’ Miriam said at once, charily looking up at the grey sky. Her very words were a form of greeting, dispens
ing with the usual hellos and how-are-yous, taking for granted their amity, and understood as such. ‘I’m sick to jeth of getting shit all over me shoes and up the hem o’ me frock an’ all. It’s a pity them damned hosses cor’ drop their loads in the fields for a change. Anywhere but the sodding streets. I wouldn’t mind, but when it’s fresh the stink’s enough to blind yer.’
Lucy chuckled. ‘You’ve had a good day then, I take it.’
‘Lousy. Look at the state o’ me.’ Miriam looked herself up and down frustratedly. ‘I’m gunna find me a different job. The fireclay works is too mucky. Is there anythin’ going at the glassworks?’
‘I don’t know, Miriam. I’ll ask for you tomorrow, if you like.’
‘Would yer?’
‘Yes. I’ll let you know next time I see you.’
‘Am yer off a-courting again tomorrow afternoon, Luce?’
Luce nodded and smiled. ‘Course. I wouldn’t miss my Saturday afternoon for the world. That and Wednesday nights are the only times I can go a-courting.’
‘Why don’t this Dickie take you a-courting of a Sunday afternoon, like any normal chap?’ Miriam asked pointedly. ‘You always used to see Arthur of a Sunday afternoon, din’t ya?’
‘Dickie plays cribbage of a Sunday dinnertime when he isn’t working. By the time he’s had a few tankards of beer he’s too tired to come out of a Sunday afternoon.’
‘What of a Sunday night then?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘He’s got brothers and sisters who he’s close to, as well as his mother. I think they all like to get together of a Sunday night. I don’t like to press him, Miriam.’
‘Have you met his family yet?’
‘Not yet. He says he’s going to take me, but he hasn’t yet.’ She smiled brightly, masking her frustration. ‘When we get together we’m too wrapped up in one another to worry about his family.’
