Meet Me Under the Clock

by Annie Murray

  ‘Joe!’ Kitty hurried over and greeted him with a dazzling smile.

  Joe Whelan was a bear of a man in his late forties, who had come to Birmingham from Ireland in his twenties. He was stocky, black-haired, blue-eyed and very reassuring-looking, with a soft Wexford accent.

  ‘Oh now, Kitty,’ he said. He had his flags for signalling to the driver tucked under his arm, his whistle round his neck. ‘Goodness now, what’re you doing here?’ His attention was mainly on the job, and the passengers boarding further along the platform. He looked agitated by her appearance.

  ‘I wanted to see you,’ she said, going up even closer to him and looking up into his eyes, making her own wide and appealing. ‘Can I come with you, Joe?’

  He looked around uncomfortably for a moment. Passengers were climbing into the carriages or, having disembarked, were walking swiftly away. No one was taking any notice of them. Joe hesitated. ‘Get in then,’ he half-whispered. ‘I haven’t seen you.’

  Kitty nipped round behind him and stepped up into the guard’s van. The stove was lit and it was very warm and fuggy. Two bicycles stood propped against the wall, alongside a wheelbarrow and various sacks and boxes. She heard the train get up steam again and Joe blowing his whistle. As they began to ease away, towards the next station at Soho, Joe stepped in and slammed the door shut.

  She turned to him in the gloom. The expression in Joe’s eyes was nakedly anxious, yet already full of the desire she knew he felt so strongly for her. She had met him on her journeys back and forth from Handsworth to Hockley and they had got talking. She had made up to him, there was no denying it. The man was like putty in her hands and she enjoyed the sensation of power it gave her.

  ‘Hello, Joe.’ She made her voice soft and seductive.

  ‘Hello, Kitty,’ he said, a little shamefaced.

  She stepped closer. She knew she had the power to make him forget everything: his wife, his children, everything in his nature and his Catholic conditioning, which made his conscience scream that this was wrong.

  ‘Where’re we going today?’ he asked. He picked up a cigarette that he had left burning on the stove and took a drag on it. The tip glowed orange for a second.

  ‘I can’t stay on today,’ she said, moving close to him. Twice she had lingered with him beyond the two stops that took her home. She even bought a ticket once to take her all the way out to Wolverhampton Low Level, in order to ride with Joe before getting out and catching a train back. Joe had told her, wonderingly, that she was mad.

  Each journey was spent in more of a fever of desire than the last – Joe’s desire. Something about him tugged at Kitty’s emotions. It was his lust for her that made her keep going back to him; her need for a sense of power, more than any fire that she felt in her own body.

  ‘Kitty,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘You’ve got to stop doing this – coming to me. It’s wrong. My wife Ann’s not well . . .’

  ‘D’you really want me to stop?’ Kitty took her hat off so that he could see her face properly, and stepped up to him, putting her arms around him. Her full breasts pressed against his chest. She knew he would never be able to resist.

  ‘God, girl,’ Joe said helplessly. He threw the half-burned cigarette to the floor and ground it with his heel. ‘God, now stop it, will you? What am I to do, with a girl like you coming on to me? I can’t think straight.’

  He looked down at her, then pressed her close to him, his burly body surrounding her, his mouth fixing on her upturned lips. He tasted of the roughest tobacco. They kissed for the rest of the short distance to Soho and, as soon as the train moved off again, Joe came to her and took her hungrily in his arms.

  As they steamed into Handsworth station, Joe tore himself away from her. For a moment he looked dazed, still lost in his own arousal, like someone waking from a dream.

  ‘God!’ he said again. ‘You make me want you, woman.’

  Kitty was excited by his need. She had never had intimate relations with a man, not beyond these stolen kisses. But she had already had a taste of the way she could hook a man and make him hers. This was something she could do.

  ‘Not now, Joe,’ she said, tapping his nose with her finger. ‘I’ve got to go.’ She straightened her cardigan, deliberately pulling it tight across her breasts. She could see Joe gazing hungrily at them. She went to the door as the train halted, hissing steam. ‘See you again soon.’

  ‘When?’ He reached for her shoulder. ‘When will I see you?’

  ‘I’m on the afternoon shift next week, I think,’ she said.

  Joe thought, put a hand to his head. ‘I don’t know when I’m . . . I can’t think . . .’

  ‘Never mind.’ She reached up and pecked his cheek. ‘See you as soon as I can.’

  As she walked off along the platform she knew his eyes were following her. She could feel his gaze as if it was burning into her and she felt a purring sense of satisfaction. Heaven knew, these dark, horrible days of the war were bad enough. Something had to brighten them up a bit.

  During a break the next day Kitty went out into the carriage yard at Hockley, hoping to find Sylvia, the porter she had spoken to. She seemed such a nice person, so sweet and pretty. Some of the girls in the office were nice enough, but Kitty, in her lonely life, was short of real friends.

  For once it wasn’t raining and a blustery wind was blowing that made it feel almost as if they were by the sea.

  She found Sylvia standing by the head of the horse that was harnessed to the dray she had just finished loading, which was about to depart. The horse was a big chestnut creature with white fetlocks. Sylvia was looking up, one hand shielding her eyes, and talking to the driver. Kitty was surprised to see a girl perched up on the cart, an energetic, ginger-haired person with a very freckly face. Sylvia was laughing as they talked and was stroking the horse’s muzzle fondly.

  ‘Off you go then.’ Sylvia gave the horse a quick peck on the nose. ‘Ooh, you’re lovely and velvety. Ta-ra!’ she called up to the ginger girl, who slapped the reins and drove the horse forward. Sylvia stood watching, hands on hips, as it set off.

  ‘Hello!’ Kitty greeted her.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Sylvia said. The yard was full of carts and trucks, bull-nosed Scammell transporters and porters, all hurrying to and fro. They both had to step back quickly to get out of the way of a Great Western truck that came roaring at them.

  ‘Good heavens!’ Kitty clutched Sylvia’s arm for a second.

  ‘That was close,’ Sylvia said. Kitty saw that she looked very tired, though she seemed cheerful enough.

  ‘Just thought I’d pop out and see if you were around,’ Kitty said. She lit up a cigarette and smoked it stylishly, blowing smoke out at the side of her mouth. ‘Fancy coming out sometime, for a drink or something?’

  Sylvia looked uncertain. ‘It’d be nice . . . The only thing is, what with my shifts and the raids, I have such a job seeing my fiancé. And I’m not very keen on pubs.’

  So she’s engaged, Kitty thought. A bitter feeling rose within her for a moment. ‘I know,’ she said lightly. ‘It is so hard. I have a devil of a job seeing my feller as well. And I can’t really invite you home – the old man’s not keen on company.’

  ‘I tell you what . . .’ Sylvia looked across at the big clock in the yard just as Madge’s voice came booming across to her.

  ‘Sylv? Come on – shift yerself! We ain’t finished yet!’

  ‘Got to go,’ Sylvia said. ‘But how about you come round to ours? Everyone’d be really happy with some company. Only I know it’s a bit of a way for you?’

  Kitty was pleased. ‘That’s all right, I don’t mind that. I’d like to come, if you think it’s all right with your family.’

  They fixed a time. Sylvia was off on Saturday, and Kitty realized she had the afternoon off as well.

  ‘See you Saturday then,’ Sylvia called, backing away towards the Main Shed. ‘About four? Come and meet the menagerie!’

  Thirteen

  ‘
Who is this person who’s coming round then?’ Ian asked, when he turned up on Saturday afternoon.

  ‘Kitty?’ Sylvia had been a bit nervous about telling Ian about Kitty. He expected her undivided attention. ‘Oh, she works in the offices at the yard and she seems nice. I gather she’s got a difficult home life and could do with some company. She likes animals as well, so I thought it’d be a change for her to come round.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ian said, rather peevishly. He went to hang his coat up in the hall. ‘I rather hoped I’d have you all to myself and we could go for a nice walk.’

  ‘We’ve got a couple of hours – she’s not coming till four,’ Sylvia said. She opened the front door again and peered out at the weather. It wasn’t raining, though it was very chilly. Daffodils had pushed up in patches on the remaining strip of lawn at the back. ‘It’s not bad out here. How about we go to the park?’

  ‘Okay, it’d be nice to get out,’ Ian said, appeased, and reaching for his coat again. ‘I’ve been rather cooped up all week.’

  Sylvia was warmly dressed in a black skirt and cream jumper with woolly stockings and fleece-lined boots. Her coat was dark grey with white pinstripe squares faintly across it, and she had a jaunty grey hat with a little peacock feather tucked in the side. It felt very nice to wrap up in something other than railway clothing and set out on Ian’s arm.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Ian said, smiling down at her. He had on a brown tweed coat and a brown and green scarf thrown sportily over his shoulder. Once they were a little way along the street he stopped her for a moment. ‘Kiss?’

  ‘People will see us!’ she protested.

  ‘What people?’ He gestured along the deserted street.

  ‘The curtain-twitchers.’ But she reached up and kissed him, laughing.

  They spent a lovely hour and a half walking arm-in-arm under the bare trees in Highbury Park and dreaming about the future. Daffodils were appearing across the park as well, yellow and hopeful above the dark ground.

  ‘We’d better not be late back,’ Sylvia said. ‘I wouldn’t like to be out when Kitty comes.’

  When they got in, Sylvia saw that her mother was sitting in the back room in a blue haze of smoke and looking downcast.

  ‘This has just come.’ She held out an envelope and Sylvia recognized Audrey’s handwriting. Sylvia took the letter, seeing that Mom was upset. Audrey wrote to them now and again and her letters were full of service life, her new friends and how busy and exciting it was. Sylvia read it out:

  Dear Mom, Dad, Sylvia and Jack,

  I’ll have to make this a quick one, but I’m afraid I’m writing to say that my leave, which we normally get after three months, has been cancelled for the moment. Very disappointing – I was so looking forward to coming home, and they can’t tell me at the moment when I can get away. I hope as soon as possible, and I feel very browned off about it.

  We’re all working like mad and there’s never a dull moment (well, some of it’s dull, but it’s still busy!). I’m now sharing a hut with a bunch of madcap girls and we have a lot of laughs. We all went to the camp picture house last night and they were showing Tin Pan Alley, so we’ve all been singing the songs ever since!

  Sylvia glanced at Ian, smiling, as they had seen the picture together already. It was one of Sylvia’s favourites, though Ian thought it ‘slushy’.

  ‘She’s starting to sound different,’ she said. ‘All that funny language they have. And she went on reading: “All is well here, suffice it to say.” Ooh,’ Sylvia laughed, ‘“Suffice it!”’

  I hope Dad’s not overdoing it, nor you, Mom. Glad to hear you’ve settled in at the Goods Yard, sis. Well, that’s a turn-up for the books – what does Ian think? At least you’ve found a job that doesn’t involve any brain-work (wink)!

  Sylvia was stung by this, and even more by the way Ian joined in the laughter. She was just opening her mouth to make an angry retort when they heard a knock at the front door. Swallowing her rage – the sort of rage that only an older sister can provoke – she said, ‘That’ll be Kitty. I’ll go.’

  On opening the door, a cheering sight met her eyes. Kitty, in a smart navy coat, shoes and hat, was peering out from behind a large bunch of white narcissi with orange centres.

  ‘Hello!’ Sylvia said happily, forgetting her wrath at Audrey’s comments. ‘That was perfect timing – come in!’

  ‘This is ever so nice of you,’ Kitty said, stepping in.

  ‘No, it’s lovely that you could come. Everyone’s at the back.’ Sylvia took her coat. ‘Well, except my dad and Jack, my brother. Come on through – this is my mom.’

  Sylvia watched as her mother greeted Kitty in her kindly, comfortable way. Mom was always most at ease in her own home. ‘Nice to see you, love. Come and join us. I’m sorry we’re all in the back, but I haven’t lit the fire in the parlour yet.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Kitty said, ‘it’s cosy in here. What a nice room.’

  It was nice in a homely way, Sylvia thought, a cosy, well-used room with the table and chairs, fireplace and wireless on the sideboard in which they kept the crocks. On the mantel was a mix of jugs and candlesticks, a china horse, a silver cup that Jack had won at school for sprinting, and a jar full of dried lavender.

  ‘I thought you might like these,’ Kitty held out the flowers. ‘Mrs . . . Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know your surname.’

  ‘Whitehouse.’ Pauline took the little bouquet, smiling with pleasure. ‘Aren’t they nice – but there’s no need, you know, love. It’s nice of you to come. Sylvia, find a vase; they’ll look lovely on the table here. Come and have a seat in the warm, Kitty.’

  ‘Take my chair,’ Sylvia called over. ‘I’ll bring this stool.’

  ‘Make us a fresh pot, Sylv?’ her mother said. ‘Reuse some of grouts. There is a bit of cake, although it’s not up to much. It’s got everything in except ingredients!’

  Everyone laughed. ‘It’s surprising what you can do with no ingredients, Mrs W.,’ Ian said. ‘I bet it’s delicious.’

  Sylvia put the kettle on again as everyone greeted Kitty. She smiled, seeing her mother and, she thought, Ian too taking a liking to her new friend. And Kitty looked so nice and happy to be there. To make things even better, Brandy, the orange tabby, got up from her place in the corner and sauntered over to greet the new visitor.

  ‘Hello!’ Kitty said as the cat leapt up onto her lap, without any thought of asking permission. ‘What a lovely warm thing you are!’ The cat settled, purring.

  ‘Don’t let her claw you,’ Sylvia warned. ‘She’s a devil for that.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Kitty said. Brandy seemed to be in seventh heaven on her lap. ‘I’d love a cat, but Dad’s not keen on animals.’

  ‘What about your mother, bab?’ Pauline Whitehouse said. She sounded even more motherly than usual as she said it, as if she already had Kitty down as a sad little orphan.

  ‘She died – last year,’ Kitty explained. ‘She’d been very ill, and . . .’ She trailed off and they could all hear the break in her voice.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Pauline said. ‘That’s terrible. Have you got any brothers and sisters?’ Sylvia stood, hoping Kitty didn’t mind all these questions, but she seemed almost glad to be asked.

  ‘No, just me,’ she said. She eyed Pauline’s cigarette. ‘You don’t mind if I smoke?’

  ‘You go ahead, love,’ Pauline said comfortably, lighting up herself.

  They asked Kitty about her work at the yard.

  ‘You’re a comptometer operator?’ Ian said. ‘You must have a good head for figures.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I have,’ Kitty said. ‘The machine does most of the work, really. But it does seems to come quite easily to me – arithmetic was my favourite subject at school, believe it or not.

  ‘My sister’s like that,’ Sylvia said. ‘Audrey. She’s in the WAAF.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve got a sister as well?’ Kitty enthused. ‘You are lucky, Sylvia.’

  ‘Ha!’ Ian teased. ‘A
ll that sisterly love.’

  Kitty’s brow wrinkled. ‘Do you not get on?’ she asked rather cautiously.

  ‘Oh, she’s all right,’ Sylvia said, still stinging from Audrey’s remarks in the letter. ‘When she’s asleep!’

  As they were drinking their tea, Sherry, the brown tabby, came and rubbed herself against Kitty’s legs and she laughed, seeming very pleased to be singled out.

  ‘You’re the favourite today,’ Mom said. ‘They’re not always this friendly, you know.’

  ‘Cats really do take to some people more than others,’ Sylvia said. ‘They obviously like you.’

  ‘They can’t stand me,’ Ian said with a rueful expression.

  ‘You don’t smell right,’ Sylvia teased.

  Kitty was laughing, stroking both the tiger-striped cats. They went into ecstasies of pleasure.

  ‘D’you want to come out and see the rabbits and the royal ladies?’ Sylvia asked, once they’d downed their tea. ‘We’ll need our coats.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Kitty said.

  ‘I’ll stay in the warm, I think,’ Ian said. He looked sleepy. But Sylvia was pleased to see that he had taken to her friend. Ian was so clever that she was always a bit afraid he might look down on people.

  Sylvia fetched their coats and led Kitty out the back. She looked round, seeming entranced with everything.

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ she said again, taking Sylvia’s arm as they went along the path in the chilly garden. Sylvia was surprised and warmed by this. ‘Your family are so nice and – oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘All these animals!’

  ‘Come and meet Mr Piggles,’ Sylvia said.

  When she lifted the big, floppy rabbit out to hand him over, Kitty laughed like an enchanted child.

  ‘Look at him!’ she said, full of delight. ‘He’s enormous – and all this fur! Is he going to be all right with me holding him?’