And did not want one. The effect that the touch of his face on her skin had was extraordinary. It was such as she had dreamed it would be on those long, miserable nights in her hated lonely bed, exactly like that. Her skin crawled across her belly and back as their cheeks met, and she found herself opening her mouth greedily to him, wanting to kiss him as much as he did her.
When they had moved she did not know, but she suddenly realized that they were no longer on the gravel path, but on something soft and yielding and he was pulling her down, inexorably, so that her knees buckled under her and she was on the grass and he was beside her. Wet grass, black grass, scented grass, with flowers all round her. She could smell the daffodils even more strongly now, and the scent of them, mixed with the scent of him, made her dizzy with excitement and she reached both arms out to hold on to him, stretching herself along the grass to relieve the cramped position she was in.
And there they were, side by side, facing each other and she could feel a daffodil leaf brushing the back of her neck as he lifted his head and looked down at her, and she said with a soft giggle, ‘Something’s tickling me –’ and he laughed too and kissed her again.
‘Millie, please, let me. I have to – please, Millie?’
‘What?’ She looked at him again in the darkness, seeing his eyes glinting at her. ‘What did you say?’
‘Please,’ he said, and now his voice was thick. ‘I must – you want me, and I must and –’ And now it all changed. Not his cheek touching hers but his hands, pulling at the bodice of her gown and then tugging at her skirts and reaching, stroking, holding. She felt the buttons on the front of her gown part and gasped as suddenly his hand was there, inside her clothes and touching her skin, and her nipples hurt sharply as his hand found one and again she gasped and tilted her head upwards.
‘Ah, Millie, my own Millie, you’re the same as me, you are, you are. You want me as much as I want you –’ And he bent his head and she felt his lips against her breasts and could not breathe at all. This was unbelievable, and somewhere deep in her mind she cried – it wasn’t like this when I dreamed – it wasn’t like this when I dreamed – it’s better, better, better –
When it happened all she felt at first was amazement. He lay on her, pulling at his own clothes and at hers at the same time, wriggling, grunting a little as he concentrated, all his actions rough and urgent, and she lay there beneath him looking up over his curly head at the stars that she could see caught in the tree branches above her head and thought – so, this is what it’s like? This is what it is meant to be? Just this? And he pushed himself at her, forcing her legs to part and then tearing at her drawers. She felt a surge of cool air as he heaved himself upwards for a moment to be sure he was arranged as he wanted to be, a coolness that made her embarrassingly aware that she had become richly moist with excitement and which gave her a sudden urge of sensation quite unlike any she had ever had before.
But then the coolness went as he pushed himself into her, hard and determined, and she cried aloud as she felt him cleave his way through her and tried to clamp her legs together more tightly, to stop the hurt.
But it didn’t stop, and again he pushed his body against her so that she had to let her knees fall apart and now he was pushing himself in and out of her, hard and rhythmic, his head thrust back so that it blocked out the starlight above her, making its own patterns against the sky.
Still it hurt, but it was different now. Excitement rose in her as the sharp sensations burnt against her awareness and she tried to hold on to each one as it came to her, but every time the feeling changed and swept her away onto a different one, and she tried to concentrate, to understand all that was happening, and could not.
The sensations rose and grew and she found herself clutching his shoulders, holding on hard and bending her own head back so that her skull pressed against the ground and she closed her eyes, wanting the sensations to go on and on. It was good. It was dreadful, it was wonderful, it hurt and she didn’t want it to stop.
But it did stop, suddenly. He thrust himself down on her yet again, but this time didn’t rise, but remained close to her, jerking his pelvis, as he seemed to try to push right through her, and she heard him cry out, a thick guttural sound. And then he collapsed against her, and lay panting a little, his mouth pressed into her neck and making her skin feel wet and cold.
‘Oh, Mildred!’ he said. ‘Oh, Mildred!’ and lay still.
She lay still too for a while and then moved experimentally. ‘Kid?’ she whispered and then, as he showed no response, said it more loudly. ‘Kid!’
At once he woke and turned his head towards her. ‘Mmm?’ he said sleepily.
‘Kid – I –’ And then to her amazement she was weeping again, with huge sobs coming from her and he lifted himself up on her and peered down and said, ‘Millie – oh, Millie – don’t –’ and rolled off to lean over and touch her cheek.
But still she wept on, rocking her body against the grass and suddenly he made a soft little sound in his throat and then repeated it and she knew he was laughing.
‘You didn’t, did you? You didn’t and you want to – oh, Millie, you are such a girl, boobalah – such a girl!’ and his hands began to move again, stroking her, across her bare thighs where he had pulled her stockings away, up and on into the centre of her, moving his fingers as rhythmically as he had moved his body. She tried to resist at first, but then knew what he was trying to do and moved her own body in rhythm to match his and then at last there they were again, the sensations, the feelings that had made her dreams so terrifying and exhausting and so distressing.
But now there was no distress in it. Only need and urgency and more need and she went on moving and so did he and then it happened; as inevitable and as familiar as though it had happened a thousand times before, although it had never happened before, except in restless dreams, and this was so much better –
They lay side by side on the grass for a long time, she staring up at the sky and he dozing a little, his mouth once more against the side of her neck and she lay very still, not wanting to disturb him, feeling a need to be kind to him. She was half dreaming, half thinking and neither seemed to make any sense, and it didn’t matter anyway –
The sound of the clock came from a long way away but sleepily she listened. First the four notes of the first quarter – ding, dong, ding, dong – and then the second quarter. Half past something, she thought – then the third quarter came softly singing through the trees, and a tiny worm of anxiety stirred in her. The final quarter rang and now she opened her eyes wide, fully awake. It must be midnight and here she was, still out of the house and in such a state of disarray – and she reached for her skirt, wanting to pull it down to tidy herself as the first single note of the hour came singing at her. And stopped. Just one note and she caught her breath and sat up so sharply that he rolled away and sat up too, staring round in startled bemusement.
‘It’s one o’clock!’ she cried. ‘Oh, my God, it’s one o’clock! Freddy must have locked the house by now! He knows Papa is in and – oh, God, what am I to do?’ And amazingly it mattered more to her than what had gone before. It was as though worrying about the time and how she was to get back home without being discovered made the reason for her lateness unimportant.
‘Don’t worry,’ He was pulling at his own clothes, setting himself tidy. ‘I’ll look after you, Millie. Don’t you fret – I’ll take care of you. Oh, Millie!’ And he came across the small area of grass that separated them, shuffling on his knees, crushing once again the daffodils which had been flattened beneath them and which had been trying to recover. ‘I – That was incredible, wonderful – I’ve been wanting you so bad I didn’t know what to do with myself. It’s crazy, ain’t it? I never felt like this before about any girl ever. Not ever. Was it good for you?’
She was on her feet now, and smoothing her gown over her hips, very aware of her torn drawers beneath it, and of the gaping spaces in front of her bodice where t
he buttons had been lost. ‘Good? –’ She swallowed. ‘As good as what? It’s never – I mean – I don’t know.’
He scrambled to his feet and came to stand close beside her, peering up at her in the darkness. ‘You was a virgin, Millie?’ There was an odd note in his voice, a kind of awe, and he said it again, a statement this time. ‘A virgin.’
She felt her face flame in the darkness. ‘What do you think?’ she said savagely. ‘I’m not one of your – in my world unmarried ladies always are.’
‘Oh, Millie, did I hurt you?’ He sounded concerned but there was more than that in his tone, a sort of triumphant hopefulness, as though he wanted to be told that he had hurt her, not badly, but enough, and she frowned, bending her head to fiddle uselessly with a rip in her gown. ‘No – well, yes. Oh, not – it didn’t matter –’
‘But you liked it? I made you feel good? Tell me I made you feel good. I want you to feel good so much –’
‘I –’ She swallowed and looked at him and he smiled and set his head to one side. ‘Tell me it felt good,’ he said again and she could not lie to him, and nodded and her face stretched itself without any conscious control from her and she found herself smiling a wide and tremulous grin.
‘That’s all right then,’ he said with great satisfaction and turned and reached for a bundle that was on the ground beside him. ‘Look, here they are. Your jacket and your hat. The jacket’ll cover what’s happened to your dress. You’ll be able to fix it won’t you? I’m sorry I tore it, Millie. I didn’t mean to. But I wanted you so bad it was like –’ He put his arms round her and kissed her. ‘But you know what it was like, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know anything,’ she said and pulled away from him. ‘I don’t know what – I can’t think how it all happened, I’m not –’
‘I know,’ he laughed. ‘You ain’t that sort of girl. They all say that. I ain’t that sort of girl – but you don’t have to say it. I know you’re not. You’re a lady. Real class you are.’
She had stiffened, stopping the buttoning of her jacket and staring at him in the dimness.
‘What did you say?’
‘That you’re a real lady –’
‘No – before that. That’s what they all say? Are you saying that –’ But she could not go on, and bent her head and swallowed, not wanting to look at him any more.
‘Am I saying what?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said dully and bent down to retrieve her hat, and stood turning it between her fingers, trying to smooth the small brim which had bent beneath the pressure of their bodies.
‘It does. If it matters to you it matters to me. Tell me what it was you was going to say.’
‘They all say that,’ she repeated after a moment. ‘I’m just one of lots, aren’t I? A plain and stupid old maid you’ve had a game with and –’ Again tears filled her eyes; not painful urgent ones this time, but tears of loss and desolation. For a little while it had been all so rich, so real, so important, and now she saw it for what it was: a cheap and nasty adventure. This was the inevitable result of the whole sordid business on which she had embarked last autumn, travelling secretly to slums to spend time with slum people, learning slum ways. And now she stood in the middle of Hyde Park in the small hours of the morning in torn and stained drawers feeling soiled and degraded and sick. And she closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then turned and without another look backwards, ran as fast as she could towards the Lancaster Gate and home. Horrible, hateful, but safe home.
14
He caught up with her as she reached the Lancaster Gate, and it was just as well, because the gate had been fast closed. She stood there pulling uselessly on the great padlock that held them together, crying furiously and noisily, so noisily that she did not hear him come up behind her.
He took hold of both her elbows from behind and held on, even though she tried to shake him away, and just stood there as her tears blew themselves out in a storm of weeping. And then, as they lessened and became first occasional sobs and then just a few hiccups, said reasonably, ‘You can’t get home without me to help you, so you might as well let me talk first. I won’t let you go till we do, so be sensible like you usually are.’
‘I don’t feel sensible,’ she flared at him. ‘I feel dreadful –’
‘Don’t say that.’ He spoke softly and pulled her round so that she had to look at him. ‘Please don’t, because it ain’t true. It was good loving for you as well as for me. I made sure it was. Didn’t I? I know I did –’
‘With all your experience I dare say you do know. I dare say all the others say it, too, just as they always say they’re not that sort of girl. So if they say that you’re so good at – at what you call loving, then it must be so. How can I know, ignorant as I am?’
‘Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you, saying what I did! But be reasonable, Millie – a bloke like me, what do you expect? I’m not one of your West End types, all eyeglasses and namby pamby mincing around! Maybe they don’t need no – maybe it ain’t important to them to have women in their lives, but for me and people like me, ordinary people, believe you me, it is. The thing of it is, I’m a man and I ain’t cut out to be a monk. So –’
‘So I’m just another one of the things you need,’ she said bitterly. ‘Like fights and gold chains and salt beef sandwiches. Just something you need, that’s all. An ugly old maid who ought to be grateful, I suppose, and –’
His grip on her tightened. ‘Don’t ever say that again to me, you hear me? You are not ugly. You are not an old maid. How can you be? You and me is goin’ to be married –’
There was a small silence and then she said carefully, ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I wants to marry you, and you wants to marry me –’
She took a sharp little breath. ‘How can you say that? You don’t know. How can you be so sure that I do?’
He peered at her in the darkness. ‘Of course you do!’ He sounded uncertain for the first time. ‘I mean, back there in the daffodils – it was obvious you love me! You know you do – you wanted to be with me, didn’t you? You wasn’t acting, was you?’
‘Acting?’ she repeated. ‘No, I wasn’t acting.’
‘Then we’ll get married. It’ll be problems, I dare say, but we’ll sort it out. They’ll come round –’
‘Who’ll come round?’
‘Families –’ he said vaguely. ‘You’ll see. They’ll get used to the idea.’
‘Even if I’d agreed that I was going to marry you, I don’t see how you can say that,’ she said, trying not to let herself imagine the reality that might lie behind the words he was using. Married? To Kid? And living with him? Where? And on what? Houses cost money, and for all his lavish spending when they had been going out and about together, she knew that all that Kid had he earned from fights. To set up a home took more than the occasional windfall which was, after all, all that his income was. And what chance was there her father would release to her her small legacy, which would be useful, if not the whole answer to her needs, once he met this man? ‘My father is not – not an easy man.’
‘Your father? I wasn’t thinking about him.’
‘Oh!’ She was startled. ‘Then who were you thinking about? My Mama is just my stepmother, you know. I doubt she’ll care much what I do. Except perhaps for regretting having the use of me about the house.’
‘I was thinking about my family,’ he said. ‘Remember what I told you? About how they go into mourning when a person marries out of the faith? Remember how my mother was with you?’
She reddened in the darkness. ‘I’m sorry. I was being – I suppose I’d forgotten –’ And how could I forget? she thought then, when his mother had spoken so to me, when she made me promise I would never marry her son? A far-seeing woman, Mrs Harris. She had known this was going to happen; and for a moment she hated her for being so perceptive.
‘You thought it more likely there would be objections on your side, and that they’
d be more important,’ he said shrewdly. ‘After all, your people are much better quality than my lot, aren’t they?’
Again there was a silence as she digested that and then she said abruptly, ‘This is all nonsense, isn’t it? It’s been mad from the beginning. For me to have agreed to know you at all was mad. To be here with you tonight is even more – and to talk about marrying –’ Her voice trailed away and she stood and stared into the darkness over his head and felt the chill of the night air in her bones and ached to go away and crawl into her bed and sink into total oblivion. It was all too much for her to cope with any more. She was tired and dispirited and felt oddly detached now. It was as though all this was happening to someone else, a someone else she did not particularly care for, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘I shall have to climb over, I think,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘Will you help me?’
‘Of course. Here, it isn’t as difficult as it looks. I’ll get up first, get you up and then go down the other side to catch you –’
At once he was all action, shinning up the ornamental ironwork of the tall gate, leaning down to reach out a hand to help her do the same once he was safely astride, using his jacket to protect himself from the blunt spikes that adorned the top, and half in a dream she obeyed his instructions. Had she been less tired, less bewildered by all that had happened tonight she might have been too frightened to try, for the gate was well over eight feet high and created a formidable barrier to her in her muffling long skirts, but within minutes she was down on the other side, caught by his strong arms, and standing in the Bayswater Road.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk about this later. Let me get you home, and tomorrow – tonight, eh? – we’ll meet, go to supper, we’ll make plans. I’m goin’ to marry you, Millie, that’s the thing of it. So you might as well agree now. Haven’t you noticed I always get what I want? Soon’s I saw you in the gym that night I thought – this is a class lady and she’s goin’ to be my lady. An’ that’s how it’s worked out, hasn’t it? You might as well give in –’
Jubilee (Book 1 of The Poppy Chronicles) Page 15
