by Annie Murray
‘We’re having a cuddle,’ Marigold said. It was strange, but she found she liked it. It gave her an excited feeling in the bottom of her tummy. It was so dark she could barely see him, only feel him pressed against her.
Then Tommy started sucking at her lips and Marigold drew back, disgusted.
‘What you doing?’
‘Kissing you, silly.’
‘That ain’t kissing – that’s dirty!’
‘You never had a kiss before? I’ll show you what it’s like.’
The kissing was all right when she got used to it and it gave her all sorts of other feelings.
‘Unbutton your coat for me,’ Tommy breathed. ‘And your other bits. This flaming arm – takes me an age to do buttons.’
She obeyed, not sure what was happening. It was frightening but exciting. The night wasn’t too cold but she felt funny, undoing everything outside. Her large breasts lolled free under her threadbare old camisole and Tommy gave a groan of pleasure, running his hand over them. He teased up the edge of her vest and Marigold felt him reaching for her nipples.
‘Ooh,’ she heard herself say. Her body was flooded with feelings such as she’d never had before. She squirmed with pleasure and pressed against Tommy. It had an effect on him that she wasn’t expecting. He pulled back and fumbled at his clothes.
‘Christ . . .’ He sounded angry. Marigold was confused.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m a cripple, that’s what! Get your bloomers off for me – quick!’
‘My bloomers?’ She was giggling. ‘What for?’
‘Just get ’em off – you’ll soon see . . .’
She never did see anything, in the dark, could only feel. Tommy groped at her skirt, trying to hoik it up, once she’d obediently removed her bloomers. He was panting and cursing, his breaths hot and frantic against her neck. Then she felt something jabbing at her thighs.
‘Open your legs!’
There were a few moments of frustrated confusion and she heard him cursing, trying with one arm to find his way to her, to control himself. Then he was jabbing up between her legs.
‘Christ!’ he said again. ‘Let me in . . .’
And she felt a burning and a hard thing up inside her and it ached and glowed with sensation and his jabbing in and out of her set something off in her body that started to rise and spread. It was the loveliest feeling she’d ever had and she didn’t want it to stop. But it did stop, abruptly, because Tommy shoved into her very hard for the last time, gave a long grunt, and then all the urgent moving stopped and he pulled away.
‘You can put your bloomers on again,’ he said out of the darkness, and she fumbled to find them, confused by the warm burn of her feelings.
Tommy came up close again.
‘Like that, did you, wench?’
Marigold decided she had liked it. ‘Yes, ta,’ she said.
‘D’you come down here every Saturday?’
‘I come for my mom – for the meat.’
‘Well – I’ll be here again.’ He steered her out to the road and picked up the bag. ‘How about it, Marigold?’
Marigold?’ ‘All right,’ she said.
She was met back home with a slap across the face.
‘Where the hell’ve you been, you stupid good-for-nothing?’ Bessie roared. ‘How’m I s’posed to cook the tea if you don’t bring the bleeding shopping home? Can’t do the simplest thing, can you, you bonehead! Where’ve you been?’
‘Nowhere,’ Marigold’s eyes were stinging from the slap. She felt wet and sore between her legs.
‘Took you a bloody long time to go nowhere then,’ Clarence observed. He was kneeling by the fire with his boot stuck on the end of a piece of wood, trying to fix the heel back on with weedy hammer blows. Violet and Rosina were sitting quiet, out of the way. There was no sign of Charlie. The room was full of steam and as usual a line of washing was strung across the ceiling so that they had to keep ducking under it to get around.
Marigold put the bags down wearily on the table, waiting for Mom’s usual complaints about the stuff she’d bought and she didn’t know why she didn’t go herself. Bessie loomed over the bags of shopping.
‘Is that the best you could do – look at that!’ Bessie scoffed. The crushed-looking chicken hung limp in her hands. ‘Looks as if a cartwheel’s been over it!’
Marigold took no notice. She thought of Tommy’s hands moving inside her clothes. She had a secret that was hers. Mom was never going to know that, however much she kept on.
Chapter Six
Violet liked working at Vicars. As the months passed she learned to operate the different kinds of machines, turning out brass hinges of all different sizes. It was very noisy and dirty, but the gaffer Mr Riddle was a quiet, fair-minded man and she found the other people friendly.
One of the girls, who had given her a cheerful smile when she arrived, was called Josephine Snell. Josephine was closer to Marigold’s age than Violet’s but they were the two ‘babbies’ of the works and ended up sticking together. Josephine had wild brown hair which she tied into a thick plait, and lively grey eyes. Her house was only round the corner from Vicars and she started asking Violet back for a bit after work sometimes.
‘I can’t stay long,’ Violet said nervously, the first time. ‘Mom’ll go mad. I have to get home and help.’
‘Just have a cuppa,’ Josephine said. ‘She won’t mind that, will she?’
You don’t know our mom, Violet thought, but she desperately wanted to go with Josephine. She was so happy that Jo was prepared to befriend her.
The Snells lived in a front house that opened on to the street, though in every other way it was almost identical to the one Violet lived in. What went on in that house compared to her own, though, was a revelation to Violet. She would never have taken Josephine back to her house, because of Mom.
When they got to Josephine’s house, Mrs Snell was out at the front talking to a neighbour. She was a small, sweet-faced woman, and very kind.
‘Mom – I’ve brought Vi home for a cuppa,’ Josephine said.
‘All right,’ Mrs Snell said easily. She nodded in a friendly way at Violet. ‘You the new girl at Vicars are you?’
‘Yes,’ Violet said shyly.
‘Go in – the kettle’s on, Jo. Cuppa tea’ll set us up.’
As she got to know Mrs Snell, Violet found she was always doing little things to ‘set herself up’, a cup of tea being the chief among them. She was also a widow and had had a hard life.
Violet found herself visiting a haven of quiet, female company. She felt a pang of envy, seeing this gentle woman with her daughters and the obvious affection between them. And how peaceful and quiet their house was, not full of babies and all the washing and smells that went with them!
On the first day she had asked Josephine about the lad who was always singing. It always cheered her to hear him across the factory floor. He looked a good bit older than her and she felt rather intimidated by him.
‘You mean Warbling Willie?’ Josephine laughed. ‘His voice is quite nice really, isn’t it? That’s Harry – Martin, I think his other name is. Why?’ She asked coyly.
‘D’you like the look of him?’
‘Just wondered, that’s all,’ Violet said. She found she was blushing. She had barely known Jo then. Now they were better friends, Jo said, ‘I reckon that Harry’s taken a shine to you. He was asking about you today.’
‘What? He never!’ Violet really did blush then. ‘You’re having me on!’
To tell the truth she had barely thought about him. He seemed so much older and more superior to her – why would he even notice her?
‘Ah well, you never know.’ Josephine gave her a mischievous wink. ‘You wait and see.’
Violet kept thinking a lot about Harry Martin after that. Was it true he had been asking about her? She deliberately didn’t look in his direction or go out of her way to speak to him. She was very shy and blushed just thinking about h
im, knowing that she imagined talking to him, or him saying her name or giving her a look just for her with his dancing eyes.
Chapter Seven
It took months before anyone noticed, because no one ever noticed Marigold.
Her belly started to swell. She was already a large girl, in the mould of her mother, and she wore loose, shapeless clothes. But one evening Bessie came panting up into the girls’ room and caught a glimpse of Marigold getting undressed in the narrow space between the beds, silhouetted in the candlelight.
‘Christ Almighty!’ she erupted.
Violet, who was just getting into the three-quarter size she shared with Rosina, turned to see Marigold’s swollen outline in the candlelight. It had crossed her mind once or twice that Marigold was getting a bit stout. Now her belly ballooned out, forcing her camisole up.
‘You filthy dirty little bitch!’ Bessie loomed over her, seeming larger than ever in her fury. She grabbed the back of Marigold’s vest and hauled her over to the door.
‘Ow – Mom, stop it! What you doing?’ Marigold whined.
‘What’s that when it’s at ’ome?’ Bessie ran her hand roughly over Marigold’s belly. ‘You’re five or six months gone at the very least, you little hoower!’ She gave Marigold a furious slap round the face.
‘What you doing?’ Marigold burst into tears. ‘Don’t hit me, Mom! Why’re you hitting me?’
‘I’ll cowing hit you, you filthy little bugger! Whose is it?’
Violet and Rosina sat side by side, both hugging their knees. Rosina’s hair hung loose down her back like a black shawl. In the gloom, Violet saw that her eyes were stretched wide with fright. Violet had a sick feeling in her stomach. What was Mom saying about Marigold? Rosina looked round desperately at her. What does she mean? Why’s Mari in trouble? her eyes begged.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Marigold was sobbing, knuckles in her eyes like a big, ungainly child.
‘You’ve got a babby in your belly – that’s what, and I want to know who the filth was that put it there. You’ve been with a man, Marigold – ’ Bessie lowered her voice a bit. Violet imagined Mabel Cameron listening slyly the other side of the wall. ‘Did ’e take advantage of you?’
‘What d’you mean?’ she wailed.
‘Did someone force you, you gormless wench?’ Bessie had Marigold by the shoulders and was shaking her.
‘No! It was Tommy – he’s my . . . We’re courting!’
‘Courting – you!’ Bessie laughed, cruelly. ‘Oh, very nice. You been out in the monkey run, picking up a fancy man, Marigold? I’d like to see that, that I would!’
‘He meets me in the Bull Ring, Sat’day nights.’ Marigold could never stand up for herself against the force of Bessie. Her mother could crush her to powder in seconds. ‘He’s my friend.’
‘Is ’e going to marry you then?’ Bessie demanded harshly. ‘You’d better get down to the Bull Ring and see what sort of friend he turns out to be.’
With utter loathing she shoved Marigold back on to the bed. ‘You filthy, disgusting little cow . . .’
Violet and Rosina sat, not moving as Bessie clumped heavily down the stairs.
‘Tommy’s my pal – he’s nice to me.’ Marigold’s voice came out all muffled. She lay on her side, hugging her swollen belly, and sobbed.
Bessie put a stop to Marigold’s jaunts to the Bull Ring. She wouldn’t even hear of Marigold going to find Tommy Kay to see if he’d do the decent thing and marry her.
‘You’re staying here, where I can see you my girl. I don’t want you out of my sight.’
Violet felt sorry for Marigold, but there was nothing any of them could do. Marigold was stuck, almost unmoving, at their mother’s side now, handmaid to her every whim. She wasn’t allowed to go out of the yard, but there was no hiding the fact of her ripe condition from the neighbours. She got bigger and bigger, had to resort to wearing dresses of Bessie’s, and walked leaning backwards with a slow, lumbering gait. Bessie brazened it out with the neighbours – even managed to get some sympathy.
‘Our Marigold’s so simple – a man took advantage of her. My poor, innocent girl. Wicked isn’t it, the things a man’ll stoop to?’
When Charlie found out he looked at his twin sister with pure disgust, as if she was a bad smell under his nose. Violet wondered how Marigold felt. She didn’t seem any different from usual, huge and passive, very little expression registering on her face.
Except once. One Saturday afternoon, in the heat of July, Violet went up to their bedroom to take her stockings off. It was too hot to stand them. Before she had even climbed the stairs she heard Marigold’s voice, and she went in to find her sister on her bed in a great big flowery dress of Bessie’s. Marigold was lying on her side, her chopped black hair a line across her chin and falling over her face. She was curled forwards, her hand stroking her belly.
‘. . . and you’re my little babby,’ Violet heard. ‘It’s all right, ’cause I’m your mom and we’re gunna be all right . . .’
‘Mari? What’re you doing?’ She found the sight disturbing.
But Marigold raised her head and her face was full of a shining joy Violet had never seen in her before.
‘I can feel it, Vi. I was talking to him. Here – ’ She rolled on to her back. ‘Feel him.’
The baby had pushed her body up like a steep hill. Reluctant, but fascinated, Violet put her hand on the hard drum of Marigold’s belly.
‘Move it around,’ Marigold ordered.
After a moment, Violet felt something, a little ripple, something independent of Marigold herself, moving in there.
‘Oh!’ Violet said. It was alarming. She hadn’t let herself think too much about how it got in there. ‘It feels funny!’
Marigold beamed, cradling her arms round herself. ‘It’s my little babby.’
Chapter Eight
August 1930
‘Right, Violet – I want you over here today.’
Mr Riddle led her to one of the rows of Taylor’s lathes at the far end of the workshop, their belts all looping up to the pulleys high above their heads. ‘You’ve never worked this one, have you? I’ll get Harry to show you – hang on a tick.’
Violet stood by the lathe amid the bashing, stamping and drilling of the other machines, her heart beating fast. Had Mr Riddle gone to get Harry Martin? So far the most they’d ever done was exchange a simple hello. What would Harry think, having to come and help her?
Don’t be so silly, she ticked herself off, even as her palms began sweating. It was a warm day, and she was all nerves. He’s just coming to work the lathe for you. It’s work, that’s all.
She saw Mr Riddle coming back, and Harry’s striding walk and slick black hair. His dark eyes met hers shyly for a moment, then looked away. His face looked ruddy in the heat.
‘Get Violet started on here,’ Mr Riddle said. ‘She’s a fast learner – she’ll soon get the hang of it.’
‘All right,’ Harry said. As Mr Riddle went off, Harry gave Violet a wink which made her giggle. She was surprised to see Harry’s neck turn even pinker – did she imagine it? – and he turned quickly towards the machine.
‘Right – I’ll show you. Come and stand here.’
Harry was an expert. Violet watched in admiration as he turned out a perfectly drilled hinge, his fingers strong and precise, his movements quick and intelligent.
‘There – think you can do that?’ He turned to her.
‘Think so.’ She was a bit nervous but wanted to prove she could. She was also a fast, accurate worker and her first attempt was quite reasonable. Harry stood leaning over, watching her concentrate. She could feel his eyes on her. Her pale hair was tied back but she had to blow a strand of it out of her eyes, and shook her head back. Suddenly he reached forward and held it back for her.
‘Ta – I need a kirby-grip for that.’
‘That’s not bad.’ He turned her hinge over in his hands. ‘D’you want me to show you again just to make
sure?’ And he winked again, his brown eyes full of laughter. Both of them knew she didn’t need showing again, she’d got it right the first time, but she wanted him to stay and he didn’t want to go.
‘All right. Just in case.’ She smiled back, cheekily.
Harry drilled the holes in another hinge, taking his time over it. He turned to her. Violet was watching earnestly. She liked Harry’s hands. They looked like hands that should be good at playing the piano, although she didn’t suppose he could. He looked round into her eyes and this time he was grinning.
‘D’you want me to show you once more?’
A smile spread across Violet’s face. This was handsome, cheeky-faced Harry Martin, going out of his way to stay with her!
‘Go on then.’
‘Blimey – ain’t she got the hang of it yet?’ one of the other girls shouted over to them. ‘You forgotten how to do it an’ all, Harry?’
‘If he ever knew!’ someone called with a ribald laugh.
‘Better be off,’ Harry said. ‘See you, Violet.’
‘See you,’ she said.
‘He likes you,’ Josephine told her as they poured out of the factory at the end of the day. The girls walked the pavement, taking their time, heads close together.
‘Who?’ Violet asked, blushing.
‘Harry Martin – who else?’ Josephine teased. ‘Look at your face – like a flaming beetroot! Want to know how I know?’
‘No!’ Violet protested, nudging Josephine in the ribs.
‘Bet you do!’
‘I don’t!’ Of course Violet wanted desperately to know every detail.
Josephine kept looking at her, eyes full of fun, until Violet could stand it no longer.
‘Oh, all right – tell me then.’
‘Cissy told me. One of Harry’s pals told her.’
‘Told her what?’
‘Said he thinks you’re really pretty and nice and he hadn’t plucked up the courage to talk to you until today when he had to.’
