by Betty Burton
‘Christ! I’m sorry.’ He threw himself on to his back and lay panting beside her.
Sitting up, she inhaled quietly, deeply, and felt senses begin to return. Then he too sat up. He turned a little away from her, then he turned back and again said, ‘I’m sorry… I …’ With unsteady hands he lit her cigarette, and for a long minute they sat in electric silence. ‘I’d say, Forgive me, except that I’m not sorry for wanting so much to fuck you.’
She drew on the cigarette, making it crackle and grow bright as she blushed. Men of her own class didn’t use the word fuck in front of women they respected. Yet it was the best and only way to describe what they both wanted.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to fuck a woman so much.’
‘I wanted to let you, but I…’
‘It’s all right.’ He looked closely at her, his fingers twisting a bunch of her hair round and round his fingers. ‘You’re so desirable.’
Lu felt that anything she said would be the wrong thing.
‘We’d better go.’
With mixed emotions she looked down the chalk escarpment that flattened out where houses and shops were. Where she belonged at the same time as not belonging. The houses by the sea followed the line of the shore; large, three-storey houses with names, trees, gardens, high brick walls and iron gates. The houses by the sea were owned by doctors, lawyers, high-ranking naval officers and people who appeared to do nothing except have enough money to live there. David belonged there. Lampeter Street lay further inland, in that area where the streetlights were in long, straight, close rows, unbroken by any tree.
‘Say something, Louise.’
‘When I was twelve years old, this was my road to Damascus.’
‘God spoke to you?’
She laughed quietly, and trod her cigarette into the short grass. ‘I was so full of myself, I felt like a dragonfly nymph about to burst its skin and take off into the blue.’
‘And did you?’
‘I think I did. This was my taking-off point. I had seen both sides of the hill.’
‘I guess you must live somewhere down there?’
She liked him too much to keep on playing that coy game, yet to be honest was to change everything, and she wasn’t ready to do that. ‘I don’t think we should meet again.’
‘Please.’
‘This has been the best evening of my life, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to keep it going.’
‘Then say you’ll telephone me.’
‘What is the point?’
‘The point is I just can’t leave it like this. Look, I’m usually at home on a Sunday, would you ring me there?’
‘I don’t know… maybe in a little while.’
‘Yes, please.’ He laughed gently. ‘My grandmother would think that’s pathetic. A mooning schoolboy, she’d call me.’
‘I’ll ring on the first Sunday in September, in the morning. Don’t say “Promise?” because I will do it.’
‘First Sunday, right! I will be there come hell or high water.’ He held open the car door.
‘Would you…?’
‘What? Ask.’
‘I’d love to drive your car.’
He didn’t hesitate, but picked her up and deposited her in the driving seat, then threw the rugs in the back. ‘She’s a roaring monster, and I shall absolutely love to see you controlling her.’
The controls were as simple as Ted’s pick-up, the great difference was in the engine capacity. Even so, she discovered that she could feel her way easily into the gears. She had never imagined an engine could be engaged so smoothly. She never doubted that she could drive it. She could and she did – not fast, but competently and enjoyably. She was aware of him sitting sideways on, watching her; she did not feel intimidated either by him or by the roaring car.
When she stepped out she said, ‘I’d love a car like this. I would fill it up to capacity and drive away and see where it took me.’ He looked puzzled; she knew that he must be. Then he would have to be puzzled.
Their goodnight kiss as he handed her into the taxicab was as gentle as the one with which he had greeted her earlier that evening. She let the driver draw away before she told him where to take her.
From the Queen’s Hotel to Lampeter Street. He probably thought she was an expensive street-walker.
* * *
In spite of Ray’s insistence that he was too old to think of Bar romantically, their relationship slowly evolved into that of a couple – not lovers, but people happy in each other’s company. When they took to occasional outings to the cinema, which Bar adored, the usherette would show them to back-row seats but Ray would press on to find seats in a safer position, cross his legs away from her, and keep his eyes firmly on the screen during love scenes.
Lu went to May and Ted’s only once during that summer. She had a good many things on her mind and, at the moment, Lampeter Street was not the place where she could think clearly. Certainly she felt very confused by Ray and Bar.
Bar not only loved Ray, she admired him, and Ray knew it and would not want to lose that admiration. But Ray was cautious, he had grown up having too many responsibilities. If he wasn’t careful, Bar would think he wasn’t interested in her. One thing Lu did know, he’d got it fixed in his mind that Bar was too young for him. He imagined people saying he was a cradle-snatcher. Against the concern that Ray and Bar would not get together was an equal concern that they would; they had more in common with each other than with her. She was changing, growing away, she could see it with every month that passed, not only from them, but it seemed from everyone who had been part of her life till now, except perhaps Gabriel Strawbridge, who had always treated her as an equal.
In the peaceful atmosphere at Roman’s Fields, Lu was able to tease at these tangled threads of her confusion and make some sense of herself. To make sense of her feelings towards David and the tangle of deception she had woven for herself, she told May about him. May, as always, was direct.
‘Do you want to see him again?’
‘I don’t know, sort of yes and no. If I was his sort, then yes, I would, but he’s a toff, Aunty May.’
‘When you call me Aunty, you’re usually trying to hide your real feelings.’
‘My real feelings are that he’s a toff and I’m a factory hand, and if he ever found out I’d be mortified.’
‘Well, he isn’t worth spending time on then, is he, Lu?’
‘I know what you’re getting at, but it’s not him, it’s me. He quite likely couldn’t be bothered if I’m Lu Wilmott or Princess Elizabeth, but because I’m not Princess Elizabeth I don’t want him to know who I am. Perhaps it is childish and shallow, but that’s how I feel.’
‘What are we wasting time talking about it for, then?’
For a while Lu went on sorting reusable bean-sticks from firewood. ‘Because I said I would telephone him.’
‘What for?’
‘Because I wouldn’t give him my address, and he wanted to keep in touch.’
‘That sounds like you’re keeping him on a piece of string to me. I must say I feel sorry for the poor chap. He must think something of you or he wouldn’t put up with all this secrecy.’
‘Aunty May! It isn’t like that.’
‘If it isn’t, then stop messing him about. When you do ring him you should say to him, That’s it, and finish, or be straight and tell him, and then see what he’s made of. There’s nothing to be ashamed of working for your living.’
‘He works for his living, too.’
‘What at?’
After a pause, Lu said, ‘I don’t know, but he has to travel. He’s got this lovely sports car.’
May’s ‘outspoken’ expression melted. ‘Cat burglar, d’you reckon?’
Lu beamed, as though May had stumbled on a truer perception of the situation. ‘And not a toff at all?’
‘Perhaps he thought you were, and played up to you?’
‘But he’s got a cousin who’s a naval captain.’
Lu’s face fell again. ‘Oh? And what have I got that would impress anybody?’
May twisted binder-twine around a bundle of sticks, threw it on to the trailer, then stood looking at Lu. ‘You’ve got yourself, Lu Wilmott, a beautiful, well-read and intelligent woman. Anybody who isn’t impressed by that, isn’t worth knowing.’
‘Aunty May, you always knew how to make me feel good. I think I’ll telephone him at that number. I don’t really want to get serious about a man yet, do I? I still haven’t got my ticket for Xanadu.’
May’s love showed. She smiled. ‘Of course, if you really wanted to impress somebody, there’s always the Louise Wilmott loom-weight over there at the Alton museum.’ When Lu went back to Portsmouth, she was set in her mind about what she would say. Light-hearted, but firm. She was young; the way out of Pompey wasn’t by means of a man, no matter how exciting and intriguing. She regretted that they had not satisfied the sexual craving they had experienced that night, but in one way it was good, because now she knew how easy it was just to keep going, she would go back and see Mrs Steiner. When she thought seriously about it, she had really had a narrow escape; a second time she might not.
The next morning, when Lu arrived at work, the road outside the factory was thronging with women and girls, the gates locked. George Ezzard was trying to make himself heard as he nailed a notice to the gate. ‘Fire in boiler room. Closed until further notice.’
Kate Roles said, ‘They shut us out, Lu! We’re stood off.’
Lu said, ‘They treat us like bloody dirt!’
‘Language, language,’ Nellie said.
Lena Grigg, standing close to Lu, said, ‘Two girls dropped their scissors on Friday.’
Lu said, ‘Don’t be daft, Lena, dropping scissors don’t start a boiler-room fire.’
‘Don’t you be daft either, Lu Wilmott, bad luck’s bad luck and it comes in threes, anybody knows that. People don’t make these things up.’
George came out and, standing on a box, announced that the damage would take three days to put right. Until then everybody was laid off.
As Lu pushed her way towards him, she was suddenly struck by the notion that George Ezzard could not stand her. ‘That’s not fair. It’s not our fault your blinking boiler caught fire. We can’t afford to be stood off for three days. Who’s going to pay people’s rent and groceries?’
‘You, Wilmott, are a damned trouble-maker.’
‘That’s not fair either. I’m only saying I don’t see why we should be the losers if the machines stop.’
‘You think we should pay you lot to stop home enjoying yourselves?’
Somebody shouted, ‘I could be home enjoying myself at the wash-tub.’
George went on. ‘Money for not working, that’s a good one.’
Lu raised her voice. ‘But we will work. That’s what we’ve got out of bed and come here to do, only you’ve locked us out.’
‘You can’t work without machines.’
‘And you shouldn’t let the boiler break down.’
‘That’s all I’ve got to say. Factory’s closed until further notice!’
‘No!’ she shouted as he went to get down. ‘We kept our end of the bargain.’
Flicking her comment aside contemptuously and addressing the crowd, he said, ‘Well, Madam Wilmott, if you can find a clause in your contract says we got to pay you, then you’d best consult your solicitor and sue us.’ He jumped down and dived through the small door in the chained and bolted factory gate.
In the midst of all the noise, and an atmosphere tense with frustration and anger, Lu saw quite clearly that his contempt for their arguments had been directed at her. That riled her. Oh, this place! Why did she even care what happened? She turned on her mates. ‘You lot might be scared to speak up for yourselves, but you don’t have to let him insult you… It wasn’t just me he was jeering at – it was all of us. He knows they’ve got us where they want us… If they’ve got the upper hand, you don’t have to kiss it!’ Nobody wanted to go home, that seemed too final. No work, no money.
Once George had disappeared, there was really little point in hanging around the factory gates, but this they felt compelled to do.
Women waiting for no reason other than they were with others in the same boat. Three days. They calculated what debts they could ‘leave’ this week, and who must be paid, what would husbands and mothers say about a two-and-a-half-day pay-packet. It wasn’t that they were unused to being laid off. Regularly each summer they were sent on ‘holiday’ for a week or two when orders were short or the walls whitewashed or the engine dismantled and serviced. If there was a week off, they could draw six shillings from the dole office, but there was nothing for this sort of casual shut-down.
Kate and Lu, with a number of other girls from their floor, stood leaning, backs to the factory wall, face to the sun, smoking cigarettes and grumbling. Nellie joined them. ‘Any of you girls going to be in real trouble over this?’ Nellie would do her best to try to bail anyone out if things got really bad. She was as good as they came, and none of the girls would ever try to put one over on her. Nellie was their harsh task-master and their good fairy. She put them through the hoop for their own good, they knew that; slap-dash work was only thrown out, so they might as well do it right first go. The girls looked at one another and shook their heads.
Nellie said, ‘I was thinking to myself, only an idea, like. Maybe if we had a kind of “Sinking Fund”. Say we all put in a few pence a week. It’d be like the Doctor’s Club: you could get help from it when things got bad. It wouldn’t be a lot, and we’d have to work out how to do it. What do you think?’
What Lu thought was, why haven’t I suggested something like that? In her heart of hearts she knew why. She preferred Mr Matthews’ classroom theory of politics to its practice in the factory. She had grown up seeing what commitment to other people had meant to Ray. She went dancing and he went to union meetings. He didn’t know how to be frivolous.
Kate said, ‘I reckon it’s a good idea. I’d be in!’
Others said that they would too. A new machinist, a married woman, said, ‘If they was anything of employers, they’d set it up. You need somebody who knows what they’re doing handling other people’s money.’
Nellie said, ‘I was wondering about Lu.’
It was a good idea, but what they really needed was proper insurance. What she needed was not to be drawn into it, not to be asked to run the thing. All summer she had had the feeling that her time at Ezzard’s must soon come to an end. Something would happen, would present itself, as the Palccino’s job had to Bar. She’d already decided to use the three days off work in making up some winter remnants she had bought in the spring sales on Vera’s old sewing machine.
But first Nellie called to her. ‘We thought of getting up a delegation and going to ask Mr Ezzard if he didn’t ought to pay us something for being laid off. It has to be women who won’t suffer too much if he gives notice. There’s Rita Bell from the box-making room says she’d do it with me; she’s got her two sons working, and there’s only me and my Fred. Me and Rita are getting on, anyway. We thought we should ask one of you young ones. Katie would probably do it, her dad’s in a good job and Katie’s going to leave anyway when she gets married, but you know Katie, you never know what she’ll say next and she’s got quite cocky since she got that engagement ring. We don’t hardly like to ask you, but you’ve got the gift of the gab, Lu. I mean, the rest of us’d be struck dumb and peeing our pants at having to go off abroad like you did.’
Jacob Ezzard may well have been surprised by Lu’s telephone call to his office – surprised enough to agree to see them. Word had got about, so that when the three of them arrived at the office entrance, quite a crowd had gathered.
Because of her gift of the gab, Lu was elected spokeswoman. Mr Ezzard’s face was expressionless; it was difficult to believe that this was the same person w
ho had been so affable and generous a few weeks ago. ‘Well, Wilmott, if you have something to say, get on with it. My time’s money.’
‘Well, Mr Ezzard, so’s ours, and that’s why we’re here. We can’t afford to be stood off. Three days is nearly half our money.’
‘You don’t think I want the factory closed, do you? Three days is half a week’s output.’
‘But we haven’t got insurance, Mr Ezzard.’
His face darkened at the accurate point of her argument. ‘What do you expect me to do? Give you three days’ holiday and pay you all for hanging around in the streets?’ He indicated that he was aware that there was a crowd below.
‘No, Mr Ezzard, but we think it might be fair if you did pay something. After all, we all turned up for work. Nobody wants to hang around in the streets.’
His eyes slid to Nellie and Rita. ‘You’ve been working at Ezzard’s for a long time.’
‘Since we were girls, Mr Ezzard.’
‘Would you say that conditions are better now?’
Nellie and Rita looked at one another.
‘It was treadles when you started, and now the entire work is mechanized. These days girls can turn out the kind of piecework you could only have dreamed of. Right?’ Rita nodded. ‘And you got us that new glue that didn’t get on our chests. That made a difference.’
He changed tack, became patronizing. ‘I’ve made huge investments in bringing “Queenform” up to date. Where do you think the money came from? Come on, Nellie, where?’
‘The bank?’
‘But how did it get into the bank?’
Lu jumped in. ‘Capital investment. Profits set aside for the purpose.’
He engaged her eyes dominantly, but she would not back off her own gaze. ‘Which have to be earned.’
‘And which we all have a hand in earning, Mr Ezzard.’ She was impeccably polite.
‘And which with a three-day shut-down for repairs are not likely to increase, and will certainly not allow for a pay-out for non-productive factory hands. No. The answer is no. The gates will be unlocked on Thursday morning and there’ll be overtime working until Saturday evening ten o’clock. Plenty of opportunity for making up for lost time.’
