Читать книгу The Factory Girl - Nancy Carson - Страница 7

On Wednesday the 27th of March Henzey waited eagerly for early closing. Billy Witts had arranged to meet her at last, and promised to take her to The Station Hotel to celebrate her seventeenth birthday, which was tomorrow. She was wearing her best coat, and had taken a new skirt and blouse to work to change into. When the shop closed, she had duly changed, made up her face and gone out eagerly to meet him.

The fact that he continued to call on her – always during working hours – had been tormenting her. He was patently interested in her, and it had spawned her greater interest in him. Every time he appeared she would think that this must certainly be the day he would ask her out, but every time he left her, saying: ‘See you soon, then, Henzey.’ This relentless teasing was driving her mad and fuelling her fixation. She cared deeply for him now; her infatuation and curiosity had matured into love; but that love remained frustrated, unexpressed, because he’d allowed no outlet for it. It was unthinkable that love of such intensity as hers might be ignored. So she dared to hope that this one occasion – this sole dinnertime tryst – might just be the trigger to fire him into romance. He was so cool and collected, self-confident

At ten minutes past one, the appointed time, Henzey and Billy met by his rakish 1926 Vauxhall sports tourer parked in the Market Place outside Boots the Chemist. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek – the first time ever – which made her tingle inside, and he told her how lovely she looked. As the swish motor-car pulled away, envious passers-by witnessed her happy, smiling face that was hiding a deal of nervousness.

‘So how’s it feel to be on your last day of being sixteen, Henzey?’ Billy asked as they drove past the open market.

She turned to look at his handsome face, scarcely able to believe that she had him all to herself, in the privacy of his car, without the staff of George Mason’s winking and nudging each other as they looked on. ‘Well, it’s year closer to being twenty-one.’

They pulled up on the front apron of the mock Tudor building known as The Station Hotel, an imposing structure, overlooking the railway station in the cutting below. Evidently Billy believed she looked old enough to take into a public bar.

He took her hand and led her into a comfortable and well-furnished saloon. There were men in there, businessmen, she presumed, by the look of their fine suits and starched white collars and cuffs. Some spoke to Billy, and some merely nodded, but she noticed how they all watched her. She sat on a settle that was finely upholstered in dark green moquette and Billy went to the bar, returning with a bottle of champagne and two lead crystal flutes.

Henzey flinched as the cork popped and hit the ornately plastered ceiling, and she laughed at her own nervousness. With a practised skill he filled the two glasses slowly, allowing the bubbles to subside.

‘I expect you’ve done that lots of times,’ she suggested.

‘But never before with you, Henzey. This is just our own private little celebration, and a chance to talk to you properly. I’ve been meaning to for ages. Bottoms up! Happy birthday for tomorrow.’ He raised his glass.

She did the same, sipped the liquid and the bubbles tickled the end of her nose. ‘You’re not trying to get me drunk, like your daft brother-in-law, are you, Billy?’

‘Hey, hang on a bit. Let’s get this straight. First, I ain’t trying to get you drunk – that’s not my style – and second, Andrew ain’t me brother-in-law. Nor ever likely to be.’

Her curiosity at his latter comment set her pulse racing.

Billy casually took a Black Cat from his silver cigarette case, tapped the end down, put it between his lips and lit it. When he had exhaled his first cloud of smoke he began twirling the champagne flute on the table, gazing into it, pondering Nellie a moment. Nellie was becoming insufferable when she had her clothes on; hard work these days. It was even worth considering forfeiting her share of the Dewsbury fortune; worth considering forfeiting the possibility of a seat on the board of the Castle Iron Foundry. Henzey was far more agreeable. Her lack of sophistication and unassuming manner were refreshing, and far more suited to his own temperament.

‘Me an’ Nellie have been going through a bit of a rough patch,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve decided to finish with her – give her up. We couldn’t go on like we have been. It was a waste of time.’

Henzey looked into her glass, too, watching the bubbles, like tiny stars, rise to the surface. She said, ‘I bet she’s heartbroken.’ She wanted to say more – a lot more – and a thousand questions begged to be asked.

‘Heartbroken? Maybe she is, maybe she ain’t. She’ll get over it, whether or no.’

‘How do you get on with her mom and dad, Billy?’

‘All right, I suppose. Her mother gets a bit above herself sometimes, but old Walter Dewsbury’s a down to earth Black Countryman.’

‘It’s funny, I imagined him to be ever so posh being a councillor. Like Nellie and Andrew.’

‘Blimey, no,’ he scoffed. ‘Walter’s a foundryman. Have you ever heard of a foundryman with airs and graces? Calls a spade a spade, does Walter, and swears like a trooper. He talks broader than me.’

‘Oh, you talk nice, Billy,’ she assured him. ‘But how come the son and daughter are so lah-di-dah?’

‘It’s how they’ve been educated. They’ve been to private schools. Cost a fortune an’ all, I imagine. But still, Walter’s made a lot of money over the years. He could afford it.’

Henzey sipped her champagne and shuffled prettily on the settle, her back gracefully erect. Billy watched her, admiring the way she held her head. He noticed her neck, so elegant, her throat so pale, her skin so clear, the soft fullness high in her cheeks provided by a delicate bone structure; that ultimate beauty that would never fade. Her thick hair yielded a fine lustre, and its colour was a rich dark brown, with an occasional strand of red, like a random thread of burnished copper, glistening as it caught the light. Long, dark lashes enhanced her soft, blue eyes and, when she smiled, intensifying the delicious contours of her lips, he yearned to kiss her. This girl was irresistible, he told himself, and he was a fool for trying to resist. Never in his whole life had he known a girl so lovely, and yet so natural.

‘I’d like to take you out Sunday, Henzey.’

Her heart missed a beat, but she smiled brightly. ‘Oh, that’d be nice. Thank you, Billy. Where would we go?’

‘I thought a ride out into the country. I could call for you after dinner. The nights are drawing out a bit now, and we could stop on the way back for a drink in a nice country pub.’

‘I’d really like that. What about Nellie, though?’

‘Well, I hadn’t intended inviting her, to be truthful.’

She laughed self-consciously. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

She blushed a virtuous shade of crimson and lowered her eyelids as she regarded her drink. Inside, her heart was dancing and, for a few seconds, she did not know what to say, though a hundred things flashed through her mind. The trouble was, nothing seemed really appropriate to how she felt.

Billy took Henzey home in the middle of the afternoon. As they said their goodbyes he handed her a small package, beautifully gift-wrapped, which he’d taken out of his pocket. Not to be opened till tomorrow, he said. But even more than receiving this gift she was elated that she was going to see him again on Sunday. She could barely think straight. It was a dream come true. Oh, she loved him all right. And this time she knew there was no chance of getting bored like she had with Jack Harper. How could she possibly get bored with Billy knowing that her arch-rival, Nellie Dewsbury, might still be vying for Billy’s affection? The fact that Nellie would do all she could to hold on to him was a challenge she would meet head on and parry, no matter what it took. Henzey vowed that as long as she drew breath she would do everything in her power to possess Billy. She had had two boyfriends before, so she had learned a thing or two about men.

Over and over in her mind she relived the two hours they’d spent together in The Station Hotel’s lounge bar. She felt much closer to him now. The thought that she would have him all to herself on Sunday left her trembling with anticipation. Soon she would be able to express this frustrated love that had been smouldering within her heart for so long. She imagined romantic evenings over candlelit dinners, visits to nightclubs in Birmingham, to theatres and art galleries. She imagined picnics on hot summer days, in green meadows dotted with daisies and buttercups in the Worcestershire countryside. There would be walks in parks among beautiful flowers and shrubs, and garden parties at the smart homes of his well-to-do friends. It would be a whole new world. And she must get out her sketchbook and pencils at the earliest opportunity and draw him, since that too was a sublime expression of love.

On Saturday evening after tea, the Kites sat around the table talking desultorily, before Alice went upstairs to get herself ready to go ‘chapping’. Maxine, Henzey’s youngest sister, then decided she would go to bed early to read Thomas Hardy’s The Mayor of Casterbridge. Herbert, her brother, went up the yard to the privy, but saw no point in taking the Sports Argus with him as it was too dark by now to read it, with nowhere to stand the oil lamp. So Henzey and Lizzie, her mother, were left together, ready to clear the table and start the washing up.

‘Are you going out with Jesse tonight, Mom?’ Henzey asked.

‘We might go to The Shoulder of Mutton later.’

Lizzie began clearing the crockery, stacking it together as she sat. ‘Our Alice told me earlier that The Bean might be shutting. Did you know?’ ‘The Bean’ was the firm in Dudley that made Bean Cars, and Henzey had not been present when Alice announced its impending closure. It was all too obvious what it implied. ‘They’re selling no cars,’ Lizzie went on. ‘They reckon they’re too dear. Folks can’t afford them. She’ll be out of a job.’

Henzey took the teapot and drained it into her own and her mother’s empty cup, remembering how they had struggled for years to make ends meet; how her mother had had to find work to keep them from starvation. After Henzey had found a job at George Mason’s things had improved enormously and, since Alice had been employed at Bean Cars, and Herbert had begun working in Jesse Clancey’s dairy business, things had become even better.

‘There’s a job going at George Mason’s, Mom. Rosie’s leaving to have her baby. If Alice sees Wally Bibb he’ll very likely set her on.’

Resigned to a long conversation, Lizzie settled back on her chair again and watched Henzey add milk to the two cups, ready for another cup of tea. She said, ‘It’d be better than nothing, our Henzey. You can’t pick and choose these days with so many out of work. Will you put a word in with Wally Bibb for her?’

Henzey shook her head, recalling how he was continuing to look at her so lecherously. She did not want to be beholden to Wally. She wanted to owe him no favours. ‘I’d rather not. It’s best if she goes herself and doesn’t even mention I’m her sister. He’ll take to her all right when he sees her. He enjoys a bit of glamour round him.’

‘What’s the best time to catch him?’

‘If she goes in her dinner break she’ll catch him.’

‘Then let’s hope she can get the job. It’d be nice for you, as well, having our Alice working beside you. Her wages have come in handy. I don’t know what we’d do if you lost your job as well, our Henzey.’

‘You wouldn’t have to worry about things like that if you and Jesse got married, Mom. It’s time you did.’

Lizzie sighed. ‘Yes, maybe it is. It’s his mother, though – old Ezme. I should be back where I was before, looking after your father, except I’d be nursing her instead. I didn’t mind so much with your father. It was hard work, but at least I was married to him. But I’m hanged if I’ll nurse old Ezme. The thought of having to look after her puts me right off. She never could stand me, and she never could stand my mother before me. There’s no love lost between us, Henzey. If we all had to live under the same roof as Ezme, it would be Bedlam.’

‘It wouldn’t bother me very much, Mom. Maxine would be at school, and the rest of us would be out at work all day.’

‘But I wouldn’t be. Not if I was married to Jesse. I’d have to be at home.’

‘Couldn’t you just grin and bear it? She might not live that long.’

‘Ezme’ll live forever, just to spite me.’ Lizzie sighed. ‘Anyway, we’ll see. Who knows what the future might bring?’

‘What’s the matter, Mom? You seem fed up?’ Henzey had thought for some time that her mother seemed depressed.

‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ She smiled in an effort to look brighter. ‘Just one of my moods…Now then, madam…who’s this Billy, who sent you a card for your birthday? I’ve noticed you mooning over him for ages.’

Henzey smiled coyly. ‘I can’t keep anything from you, can I?’

‘I was a young girl myself once, our Henzey. I know what it’s like being in love when you’re young.’

‘D’you remember that party Alice and me went to ages ago? I met Billy there.’

‘Oh? And what’s he like?’

‘I think you’d approve. He’s twenty-four…’

‘Twenty-four?’

‘Yes, twenty-four, handsome, steady…and well-off…’ Henzey smiled challengingly. ‘Anything else you want to know?’

‘I think twenty-four’s a bit old for you.’

‘Well I don’t think so, Mom. I like men older than myself. Younger chaps are too stupid. Look at Jack Harper, and he’s twenty-one.’

‘Jack Harper,’ Lizzie repeated reflectively. ‘I see what you mean.’ She picked up her cup and sipped her tea, holding it in front of her with both hands, her elbows on the table.

Henzey said, ‘Anyway, what about Jesse? He’s nine years older than you. You haven’t heard me mention that he’s too old for you.’

‘Yes, but that’s different…So is this Billy working?’

‘Works for himself. He’s got plenty money, like I told you. And a nice car.’

‘Well he must have plenty money to be able to buy you pearl necklaces.’

Henzey smiled again. ‘You noticed it, then?’

‘I could hardly miss that glistening round your neck like I don’t know what. Are you taken with him?’

‘I like him a lot,’ she said quietly, looking down at the table cloth. ‘I’ve liked him a long time.’

‘Then you’d best let me meet him. When are you supposed to see him?’

‘Tomorrow. We’re going for a ride in the country.’

‘Well just mind what you’re doing, our Henzey. You’re only just seventeen, remember.’

That last Sunday in March was a blustery, wet day. The month had come in like the proverbial lion and was going out like one. Once out of Stourbridge and on the road to Kinver, Henzey noticed how the winter-yellowed meadows were taking on their spring greenery, bright even under the dark, rolling clouds. Trees swayed boisterously, and the wind boomed against the canvas hood of Billy’s car. The windscreen wipers struggled to maintain visibility in the squalling rain. It was not ideal weather for a trip into the countryside with a new beau, but one that she had eagerly looked forward to, rain or shine. The weather did not matter; the fact that she was with Billy, did.

In Kinver, Henzey was still intrigued by the houses hollowed out of a sandstone rock face on the outskirts of the village, though she had seen them before on her Sunday school trips as a child. People still lived in them, and neat they looked too, with nets at the leaded windows and brightly painted front doors. The main street was deserted as they drove through it. Any Sunday afternoon in summer it would be teeming with folk ferried in by the Kinver Light Railway, which was really just a tram that looked like a charabanc on rails. The village was noted for its public houses but, by this time, they were shut for the afternoon, and those who had been supping in them earlier were doubtless all having their after dinner naps by now.

Once through the village, Billy parked the car under some trees on a patch of ground off a narrow lane overlooking Kinver Edge, a natural beauty spot. Drops of water fell from the bare branches above and drummed intermittently on the motor car’s hood. Henzey wiped the inside of the misted window with her gloved hand and peered out at the landscape, unspoilt, despite the ravages of the wind and the rain.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she suggested.

‘We’ll get soaked.’

‘Oh, Billy, we’ve got our hats and coats. Come on, let’s have a look round.’

She stepped out of the car and pulled the collar of her coat up round her neck, and her pretty cloche hat more firmly on her head. The rain on her face, the tranquillity of the woods, the meadows and the smell of damp grass, were like a tonic. After the constriction of rows and rows of houses, of factory chimneys, of the crowded, jostling town centre where she worked, she allowed herself to wallow in this rural expanse. But, best of all, she found herself walking with Billy’s arm around her waist. She nuzzled her head against his shoulder momentarily and looked up into his eyes as they walked back down the hill they’d just driven up. He caught her glance and smiled.

‘Did you go out last night, Henzey?’

‘No, I stayed in…I told my mom about you…’

‘Oh?’

‘She wants to meet you.’

‘Honest? What have you told her?’

‘Oh, that you’re twenty-four, that you’ve got a car, that you work for yourself in the motor industry…that you’re always smartly dressed…’

‘And what did she say to that?’

‘She says you’re too old for me.’ She grinned at such a ridiculous notion, and he laughed.

‘Oh? And what do you think?’

‘I think boys my own age are immature…What about you, Billy? Did you go out last night?’

‘I went to the Tower Ballroom at Edgbaston.’

‘Not with Nellie, though?’

‘No, not with Nellie. With the usual crowd.’

But Henzey knew that Nellie was part of the usual crowd. ‘Was Nellie there?’

‘Oh, yes, she was there.’

Henzey felt a bitter pang of disappointment, like a stab in the heart, but she tried not to let it show. An image flooded her mind of Billy dancing with Nellie, who was clinging to him. Did he take her home afterwards? Did he kiss her goodnight? She was longing to know, but she tried desperately to let him think she was not particularly concerned. So when did he intend telling Nellie that he was seeing somebody else? The thought of waiting days, weeks, perhaps even months for him to pick his moment, horrified her. She’d assumed he would give up Nellie straightaway. That would be the honourable thing to do. That’s what she would do. But she was judging Billy by her own standards. If she wasn’t careful he would have her dangling on a string like some mindless puppet. He would still be seeing Nellie, and she’d be just a bit on the side. Under no circumstances could she allow that to happen; her self-esteem was far too high. She had to show him she was worthy of more. She had to let him see that she would not be so manipulated. Oh, she wanted Billy desperately, but he had to come to her in his own time, under his own steam, because he wanted to. It must also be on terms that suited her. So, she had to be the stronger attraction.

At the bottom of the hill they turned right into another quiet lane overhung with trees and ivy. It was steep, narrow and winding, with the village church at the top, its ancient bell-tower overlooking all like a sandstone fortress. Rain was spattering their faces as they walked huddled together.

‘Let’s not talk about Nellie,’ Billy said, uncomfortable with the subject.

‘I don’t want to talk about her anyway.’

He detected a note of scorn, of detachment in her voice. He did not wish to alienate her. Best to justify last night’s encounter and be done with it.

‘Henzey, I know I told you I’d finish with her, and in my own mind I have already. It’s just that…’

‘It’s just that you haven’t told her yet.’

‘Right. I haven’t told her yet…I haven’t had the heart to tell her. But I shall. As soon as it’s right.’

She shrugged dismissively, but her mind was awhirl. ‘It’s up to you, Billy.’

‘Last night was arranged ages ago, not just with her, but with the folks who were with us. It was an engagement party, see? Friends…Look, I don’t feel anything for Nellie now. I’d much rather have been with you. Just bear with me, eh?…Can you bear with me?…You’ve got to understand, Henzey, that I feel nothing for her. It’s just that I don’t want her to do anything stupid.’

‘Billy, I’m not making a fuss, you are,’ she said, though there was a hell of a fuss going on inside her head. ‘I’m not worried about Nellie, so you don’t have to account to me for what you did. If you still love her, all well and good. If you don’t, you don’t. I’m looking no further than that. I like you, Billy – a lot – but I don’t intend to compete with her, so don’t expect me to. If you still want her, have her. That’s all right by me.’ Already she had learnt never to declare her true feelings this early in the game.

‘One thing I like about you, Henzey, is that you’ve got your head screwed on good an’ proper. Anybody would think you were as old as me.’ He put his arm round her again and gave her a hug.

Yes, this was the way to handle Billy: pretend to be indifferent, then offer him some bait and keep repeating the process. He was not going to be easy to manage, that much she could already discern, but the challenge made him all the more interesting.

Within a few minutes, warmed and breathing hard after the steep climb, they reached the village church. Some way beyond the church lay the churchyard, and from its high vantage point they could see the countryside laid out before them for miles. Billy suggested they have a look at the inscriptions on the gravestones; they held a fascination for him, he said. As they ambled through, noting the names and the dates, making little comments about them, Henzey conjured up images of those people all those years ago whose names and dates of death she read; images of their homes, their families, habits, fears, loves, heartbreaks. They had lived and breathed, had been flesh and blood, and now they were all but forgotten. How had they lived? What mark had they made on their community? How had their lives affected those who came later? Had they been happy?

This last question was the most important. For to live and be unhappy made living pointless. For a few moments she pondered whether happiness was God given, or whether you have to strive for it. Indeed, she felt she knew the answer. Already she had seen enough of life to know that people often make their own happiness and their own unhappiness. It’s up to each of us to make ourselves and each other happy, she told herself. Nobody can do it for us. And if we turn out to be unhappy, usually we have nobody to blame but ourselves.

She did not communicate these thoughts to Billy. They were deep, and she did not know him well enough to speak of such things. He would probably be inclined to think she was mad. Besides, he was one of those elements likely to influence her future happiness. It all depended on her. It all depended on whether she made the right decisions, when the time came, to ensure her own future happiness.

From inside the church they could hear children’s voices singing.

‘Sunday school,’ Henzey said with a smile. ‘Don’t they sound angelic?’

They moved on, looking at the gravestones. Henzey’s feet were getting colder and wetter all the time. She shivered, and Billy laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘I bet when you agreed to come out with me for a Sunday afternoon spin you didn’t reckon on spending it in a soaking wet churchyard.’

She chuckled. ‘Oh, anything for a lark.’ She looked around her at the rain, still falling, splashing off the graves. She listened to it trickling down the drainpipe of the church and exiting over a drain. ‘I’d like to come here again some time, Billy. You remember I said I like drawing and painting?…Well, I’d love to do some water-colours of this place. Look at the view. Would you bring me back one day when the weather picks up? You know, if…’ If they continued to see each other, was what she wanted to say, but the words would not come out.

‘’Course I would. That’d be interesting for me as well. I’ve never known anybody before who paints seriously.’

Suddenly the wind whipped up and the rain became torrential. Billy suggested they shelter inside the church till it eased off. As they entered quietly, one or two of the children turned round to look at them. Their Sunday school was just drawing to a close and the teacher was telling them to say their prayers every night when they went to bed, and that she would see them all again next Sunday afternoon. Henzey and Billy sat in a back pew while they filed down the aisle on their way out. Those children whose parents could afford to buy them raincoats, donned them. Henzey smiled at each of them and waved goodbye as they departed.

It was a gesture that touched Billy. There was a warmth in this Henzey Kite he’d never witnessed in anybody else. She seemed the essence of kindness and affability. In the same situation, Nellie would have glowered at the children. She would have been impatient for them to be out of her sight. This girl beside him was so very different. As the Sunday school teacher closed the door behind her, Billy put his arm around Henzey’s shoulder and drew her to him. When she looked up at him, her eyes bright, her face wet from the rain, he kissed her full on the lips, tenderly, gently.

Oh, it was a delicious first kiss and long-awaited, but she was suddenly struck by the realisation that they were inside a church and should respect its sanctity, so she broke away.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘We shouldn’t, Billy. Not in church.’ She feared the heavenly host might see and hear, and wreak immediate vengeance. ‘It isn’t right.’

‘Well, it ain’t wrong either.’

He kissed her again, defiantly, more ardently this time. Every time, as she tried to pull away, laughing and uttering feeble excuses, his mouth followed hers till she resigned herself to his kisses and enjoyed them the more. She shut her mind to the sanctity of the church and, when he eased her down so that she was lying on the pew, she was surprised, both at his forwardness and her own passiveness, for she offered no further resistance. His caresses were mesmerising. She was unable to resist. Indeed she did not want to resist. He unbuttoned her wet coat as he kneeled between the pews on a hassock, his lips still on hers. She felt his hand slip inside her coat to her waist, her hip. Her arms were around his neck, then she held his face as she heard herself sigh with pleasure at his touch. He kissed her wet eyelids, her flushed cheeks, her forehead, and then again touched her lips with his own, as gently as a butterfly settling on a flower. Then, to her horror, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, and she tasted him with some shock…But it was not so bad…It was quite nice really…In fact it made her feel all weak inside, and so much closer to him. Jack Harper had never kissed her like this.

But they were in a church. The door was unlocked, open to anybody. The world could have walked in. The vicar might come in. God, what if the vicar walked in and saw her wantonly draped over his pew? There must be some law against this. At the thought of divine retribution she struggled and managed to sit up.

Billy ran his hand through his hair, for want of something to do with it, and smiled. ‘Blimey, you don’t ’alf kiss nice, Henzey. I got really carried away there.’

Feelings of guilt swept over her; not guilt for kissing Billy; not guilt for merely enjoying it. The guilt was for enjoying it inside a church; for the possibility of being caught.

‘I think we should go outside, Billy…’

With a smile he conceded, stood up and pulled his coat to. As Henzey also stood up and faced him, he drew her to him and kissed her again, lingering over the sensuality of her lips, so soft, so accommodating. They shuffled out of the pew, he took her hand and they moved towards the main door of the church, then walked out into the rain looking hungrily into each other’s eyes. Henzey leaned against one of the sandstone buttresses. Her arms went round his neck again as the rain teemed down, running in rivulets down her face, which was upturned to receive more delicious kisses.

She allowed his hands to wander inside her coat again, fleetingly over her bottom, her thighs. Willingly she would have lain in the soaking grass with him, but when he felt her breasts, even though her heart pounded, she deftly moved his probing hand away in case he might think her cheap. His right thigh docked between hers in another sortie, and she sighed, inducing him to kiss her even more passionately. The rain drenching their faces did not matter, nor did their cold feet in the wet grass. Even the wind blowing and gusting so rudely was intrusive. But, to Billy’s surprise and disappointment, Henzey broke off their embrace and moved away from the buttress.

‘My God!’ she sighed. ‘To think Nellie’s had your kisses all to herself.’ She took his hand, inviting him to follow her. ‘Shall we go, Billy? Else we’ll never dry out before I get you home to meet my mom.’