The Railway Girl

by Nancy Carson

‘Lucky you,’ Miriam remarked. ‘He must be bringing out the woman in you good and proper … Anyroad, I’ve had such a lousy week, Luce, I’m coming with you to Wolverhampton tomorrow. I want some new things to cheer meself up.’

  Lucy looked concerned that her tryst which promised so much was in jeopardy.

  ‘Oh, don’t look so worried. I’ll leave you at the station and mek me own way into the town. Then I can meet you again after and we can get the train back together.’

  She smiled with relief. ‘Oh, all right. I normally get the six o’ clock from Low Level, on account of working at the Whimsey on the night.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ Miriam said. ‘I want to find me some new boots and have another look in that clothes broker’s we went in afore.’

  Lucy would have liked to do the same, but her commitment to Dickie would not allow it. ‘So shall I meet you at the station tomorrow dinnertime?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there. Usual time, eh?’

  ‘But I shan’t wait if you ain’t there when the train comes,’ Lucy warned.

  Miriam grinned. ‘I din’t expect as you would.’

  Although it was her birthday, Saturday began like any other day for Lucy Piddock. She left for the glassworks at half past seven and trudged along the railway track battling a stiff and very cool breeze. In her basket she carried a few cakes which her mother had baked so she could celebrate with her workmates during their morning break. She was mindful that now she had reached that age when she and Dickie could be wed without the need to seek her father’s permission, and it afforded her an enlivening feeling of independence. She was a woman at last, fully fledged and free to do as she pleased, as long as she did not stray too far beyond the unbending bounds of convention. At work, the time passed slowly as it always did when a tryst with Dickie was imminent. She yearned for the time when they would be man and wife, when their being apart would only be during the hours he was at work, and not the endless days she had to endure at the moment. Life now was spent fondly reminiscing, reliving their brief times together, and patiently looking forward to the next.

  When it was time to go, she hurried home along the railway track to get ready to meet Dickie.

  ‘There’s a parcel come, our Lucy,’ Hannah informed her as soon as Lucy walked through the door. ‘Jack Mannion dropped it off. It come up by rail this morning to Brettell Lane station, special delivery from Bristol.’

  ‘From Bristol?’ Lucy repeated. ‘It’ll be from Arthur. Oh, what’s he done now?’

  The parcel, long and thin, had been given pride of place on the scrubbed wooden table and lay awaiting Lucy’s attention.

  ‘Open it, and see what it is.’

  ‘I haven’t really got time, Mother. I’m due out in half an hour.’

  ‘Off to see Dickie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, it’ll only take a minute to open the parcel.’

  ‘He shouldn’t be sending me parcels. It’s not as if we’re courting … or ever was in any serious way.’

  ‘Well, I reckon he thought you was, our Lucy, whatever you say now. And he’s ever likely to be very fond of you still.’

  Lucy cut the string that tied the box together and opened it up. ‘Oh, the fool,’ she gasped. ‘What did he have to send these for? Have you ever seen such beautiful red roses?’ She withdrew them from the box and, holding them by the stems, she sniffed them.

  ‘I’ll put them in a vase for you, our Lucy, if you’m in a rush,’ Hannah offered. ‘Aren’t they beautiful? They must’ve cost a fortune. Is there no note with ’em?’

  There was a note in the box also. Lucy picked it up and opened it. She read it to herself. ‘Thinking of you on your birthday,’ it read simply.

  ‘It was a lovely thought,’ Hannah said. ‘I wonder if that Dickie will be as thoughtful?’

  ‘I expect so,’ Lucy answered, somewhat indignant at what her mother was implying.

  Ever since Dickie had been presented to Hannah and Haden, Lucy had the feeling that they were not overly impressed. They had said nothing – to her at any rate – had made no comment at all about him, in fact. If they liked him she felt sure they would have said so. After they met Arthur they were always talking about him; even though sometimes it was irreverently, it was always with affection. Lucy could not understand why it should be so, when Dickie was such a jovial and amiable person. Well, it was up to them. She was twenty-one now and could do as she pleased. It was nothing to do with them any more how she conducted her love life. She didn’t care whether they approved or not.

  Both Miriam and the train were on time. Dickie Dempster, on duty, made a great fuss of Miriam when he saw her, and settled the two girls comfortably in a second class compartment as usual.

  ‘Why don’t he stick we in first class?’ Miriam enquired when he’d gone.

  ‘Maybe he’d get into trouble if anybody found out we’d only paid for third class tickets,’ Lucy reasoned in a whisper, even though there was no other person occupying the compartment.

  ‘Not if we said as we’d cheated and he knew nothing about it.’

  ‘Then they’d ask us to pay the extra, Miriam. It’s a tidy difference.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought o’ that,’ Miriam admitted.

  Lucy could not understand why Miriam should not be satisfied travelling second class when it had cost them each only the price of a third class ticket. ‘Do you like Dickie?’ she asked after a pause.

  ‘Like him? D’you mean fancy him?’

  ‘No. Do you like him? As a person. I get the feeling me mother and father don’t.’

  ‘Either way he ain’t the type I’d go for, Lucy,’ Miriam answered without hesitation. ‘I ain’t so sure as he’s the right type for you either, if you want my honest answer.’

  ‘Course he’s the right type for me, Miriam. He’s exactly the right type. If he wasn’t the right type I wouldn’t be courting him. Still, I suppose I can always count on you to give me an honest answer.’

  ‘I liked that Arthur better.’

  ‘Oh, he was a proper nit, Miriam … Still is … He sent me a box of roses for my birthday. They’re beautiful and no two ways, but why would he want to waste money sending me roses all the way from Bristol?’

  ‘Out of respect?’ Miriam suggested. ‘Out of politeness? Because he still thinks a lot of you?’

  ‘Because he’s a nit, Miriam. Because it cuts no ice with me anymore.’

  ‘I hope as he meets a decent young woman, Lucy,’ Miriam said cuttingly.

  ‘So do I. Save him sending me roses all the way from Bristol.’

  With Lucy feeling admonished they fell silent again, each looking out of opposite windows at the shifting landscape. Perceiving the disadvantage to their friendship of airing their differences for too long, their silence amounted to a tacit acknowledgement of their diametrically opposed opinions on both Arthur and Dickie.

  ‘Did you find out if there was any work going at the glassworks, Lucy?’ Miriam asked, breaking the awkward lull.

  ‘I asked, but there’s nothing at the moment.’

  ‘Oh.’

  After another long pause, Miriam said: ‘I forgot to tell you … D’you remember I told you about me cousin Penina what got into trouble with a thirteen-year-old lad?’

  ‘Yes …’ Lucy looked at her friend with renewed interest, aroused from her daydream.

  ‘Well, it turns out as it mightn’t have been the lad after all. Her’d been having it off with the lamplighter unbeknownst to anybody.’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad for the poor little chap, Miriam,’ Lucy replied sincerely. ‘I thought about him a lot.’

  ‘So did the little soul’s mother when her found out. Her went round to our Penina and paled her round the yed with a broom handle. There was hell to pay …’

  Miriam walked with Lucy and Dickie as far as Boblake, where they went their respective ways, arranging to meet at Low Level station in time to catch the six o’ clock. Dickie escorted Lucy into the Old Barrel again a
nd bid her sit in the side room they always occupied while he fetched them drinks. He returned clutching a bottle of gin, two crocks to drink from, and a bouquet of red roses.

  ‘Oh, red roses!’ she cooed, taking the flowers from him. ‘Oh, Dickie, they really are lovely. When did you get these?’

  ‘Yesterday, when I finished work. I brought them here for Nancy to look after till you came today. I’m glad you like ’em.’

  ‘Like ’em, I love ’em. Here, let me give you a thank you kiss.’ She placed them down on the table.

  He put the gin and the crocks down alongside the roses and held her by the waist. Their lips met in a long, lingering caress.

  ‘You don’t know how much these roses mean to me,’ she breathed.

  It was such a relief that she could show her folks and Miriam that Dickie was no less thoughtful than Arthur Goodrich. It meant a great deal, and justified her faith in him. She sat down, happy, expecting him to sit beside her.

  Instead he held out his hand, and gestured her to get up again. ‘We’re not staying in here. I got a better room organised for us. There’s another birthday gift I want to give you …’

  She smiled and a look of anticipation flashed across her bright eyes. ‘Oh? Where?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Upstairs?’ she queried.

  ‘One of the bedrooms. It’s ours for the afternoon. Come on, bring the roses with you. Follow me …’

  She followed him up the narrow back stairs that seemed to creak very loudly, announcing to the patrons and staff in the bar below where she was being led. At the top of the stairs he stopped and felt in his pocket for a key. When he found it he thrust it into the lock of one of the doors and opened it. He let her go in first.

  She looked around her while he locked the door from the inside. The room reeked with a damp, musty smell. It was small, the walls were crooked and the varnished wooden floor was uneven. Lucy laid her roses down on a tallboy that occupied one corner and moved over to the window, one frame of which was open a little. It looked out onto Boblake. Below, a cart was being driven past, and a group of jabbering youths had congregated, obviously undecided as to where they should partake of their next beer. Lucy watched them move on.

  ‘D’you like the room?’ Dickie asked, coming up behind her and putting his hands to her waist.

  ‘It’s a bit small.’ She leaned back against him, enjoying the warmth from his body at her back. ‘It’s almost as small as my own room at home.’ She glanced at the bed. It was obvious she was going to end up there, and yet her only qualm was whether the sheets were fresh and clean. If they were not, she would be reticent about getting between them, but nothing else would inhibit her. ‘At least there’s no dust lying about. Somebody’s been and dusted.’

  Beside the tallboy stood a wooden chair with a wicker seat. Almost in one corner of the room stood a fireplace jutting out from a crooked chimney breast, but no fire had been laid.

  ‘Let me take your bonnet off for you.’

  She turned around biddably in his arms and tilted her face up to him. He undid the ribbons of her bonnet and placed it gently on the chair.

  ‘Let’s have a sip of gin now, eh? I’m parched.’ He uncorked the bottle and poured a large measure into each crock. He took one and handed it to her. ‘Cheers!’

  She sipped it, looking intently into his eyes over the rim of the crock.

  ‘Oh, those eyes,’ he said with intense feeling. ‘I’ve never known such eyes.’ He downed his gin in one and refilled it before turning to her again. ‘Here, let me take your shawl …’ He folded it carefully and placed it over the back of the chair. ‘There …’

  ‘You’re very neat,’ she commented wryly. ‘You remind me of my mother.’

  He laughed at that. ‘I’m not sure where I should put this though …’ He was unbuttoning the front of her cotton frock as she stood before him compliantly. ‘When I’ve divested you of it.’

  She lowered her eyes, embarrassed, her long lashes seeming to sweep the curve of her cheek. He took her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face to his again, then kissed her on the lips. Her lips parted and allowed his tongue ingress, which sent the blood swirling through her body. She could taste the gin he had just swallowed, sweet and hot.

  ‘I want you, Lucy,’ he breathed. ‘I want you bad.’

  She squeezed him tight. ‘I’m yours, Dickie.’

  His hands were inside her bodice but his attempts at caressing her breasts were thwarted by the thin but very significant barrier of her chemise.

  ‘I want to undress you.’

  ‘It might be easier if I do it myself.’

  ‘You’re not held together with corsets and ribbons are you, Lucy?’ he asked, and there was a genuine look of concern in his expression.

  ‘I should hope not,’ she replied. ‘Even if I could afford to be.’

  He grinned. ‘Then it shouldn’t be too difficult.’

  ‘All the same …’

  So she began to peel off her clothes, aware of his eyes on her.

  ‘Don’t stand and watch me, Dickie …’

  ‘Sorry …’

  He turned his back to her and began unfastening the jacket and waistcoat of his guard’s uniform. By the time he had finished and was undressed Lucy was standing naked watching him. She had wondered how he might look without his clothes and she was not disappointed. He tapered beautifully from his broad shoulders into his narrow hips and small backside. His legs were well-formed, sturdy and somewhat hairy. He caught her looking at him.

  ‘I thought you wanted no peeping.’

  She grinned devilishly. ‘I didn’t want you watching me. I didn’t say anything about me not watching you.’

  ‘All the same,’ he replied, hurling her own expression back at her. ‘I’m getting a good eyeful now …’

  As he turned around she could see him standing proud. He was bigger than she had imagined and she did not know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  ‘That thing’s sticking up for the weather,’ she remarked with a flippancy she certainly did not feel, in an effort to take some intensity out of the situation.

  ‘Sod the weather, it’s sticking up for you,’ he responded, and his voice was thick with desire. ‘Come here, let me feel you …’

  At once they fell into a passionate embrace and the feel of his skin on hers was like nothing she had ever imagined. His hands roamed over her relentlessly, lingering here, teasing there. He seemed to know so many ways of touching her that fuelled her desire for him. Quickly she had to put aside any sense of modesty and virtue she was clinging to as he caressed her in her most private places. She hoped that while he was doing all these perfectly improper things to her, he was retaining some sense of esteem for her. She prayed that this freedom she was allowing him now would make him appreciate how much he meant to her; that he might understand that she did not allow it because she was wanton, but because she was profoundly in love; that love engendered and condoned this sort of behaviour.

  They slumped onto the bed in their frenzy of passion, then had to interrupt proceedings while Lucy pulled back the sheets and slipped between them. She thankfully noticed in passing that they were clean and fresh. It was a strange bed, though, a bed that must have been occupied by many people over time, some no doubt engaged in similar antics.

  Dickie smiled at her, reassuring her, and at the same time admiring her. His hands resumed exploring her again, everywhere. They were in the small of her back, then gliding over her hips. Next he was cupping one cheek of her bottom and gently squeezing it. Lucy reciprocated hardly at all, quite afraid of doing the wrong thing. Aware that she must not appear cold and disinterested, however, she raised both arms and flung them around his neck, coaxed his face to hers and kissed him. Now there could be no misunderstanding. His knee prised her thighs apart and she closed her eyes as he rolled onto her.

  ‘You ain’t done this afore, have you?’ he whispered into her ear.<
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  She opened her eyes and smiled at the ceiling. ‘Never. I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Are you sure you still want to?’

  ‘Why? Would you stop if I asked you to?’

  ‘Do you want me stop?’

  She grinned, half embarrassed, half ashamed, totally self-conscious of lying there in that strange bed, naked beneath him. ‘No, Dickie, I don’t want you to stop. I love you too much. We’ve come this far …’

  ‘I’ll be gentle. I’ll try not to hurt you.’

  ‘You make it sound like … like having a leg cut off.’ She thought of Moses and the pain he must have endured.

  He kissed her again briefly, looked down at her and grinned. ‘It shouldn’t be anywhere near as gory. But then you never know …’

  It was strange, she thought as she felt him hard against her softness, pressing for entry, how all the girlish things that a man finds attractive – demeanour, elegance, grace, virtue, flattering clothes as well perhaps – were all abandoned in this unseemly spreading of legs. Yet Dickie was so excited by it.

  ‘Give me your hand,’ he said. She let him have it and he guided it down between his own legs. ‘Feel him … Go on, feel him … Hold him gently … Now move your hand up and down …’

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, not without some surprise. ‘He feels all lovely and soft and smooth on the outside, but all hard on the inside.’

  ‘If he was hard on the outside he’d hurt you. But he won’t. See?’

  He pushed into her determinedly. She imagined herself being stretched as she felt a sharp pain, and sucked air through her teeth momentarily. But it was transient, certainly nothing compared to the exhilaration of giving herself to this man whom she had loved from near and far for so long. He muttered how sorry he was that he’d hurt her after all, but she was not interested in his apology. There was no need, and she would rather he hadn’t bothered. She just wanted him to fill her up inside, and began moving against him the better to accommodate him. Soon they were locked deep together in a mesmerising rhythm that brought a warm glow within her, which seemed to emanate from the centre of her body and radiate to the extremities of her limbs. Its growing intensity elicited a series of gasps. This … it was all an enchanting yet utterly stupefying sensation … So this was the ultimate expression of love given and received. And she was so grateful for the chance to experience it.